


I Dream of Genii...

by GreywolftheWanderer



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, Angst, Bad Shit Happens, F/F, F/M, M/M, Romance, Shifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreywolftheWanderer/pseuds/GreywolftheWanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to I am the Cat...  originally posted on Rough Trade in somewhat different form.  and awaaaay we go!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser and the Firecat

“John Sheppard, I am so gonna get you back for that!” Rodney McKay scowled fiercely, as he waved his remote this way and that, trying to make up the time Sheppard's car had cost him on that last turn. They'd been battling with the RC cars for a couple of hours now, and had been pretty much tied until John decided to _cheat_ , dammit.

It didn't help a bit that the cheat in question was one Rodney had been just about to try with his own car. Now he had to think of something else.

The Fire inside him perked up at that, until he ordered it, very firmly, to go back to sleep. No way did he want to have to requisition a new RC car because he'd lost his temper and fried John's current one. He'd _never_ live that down. Plus, he tried to avoid using the Fire anywhere inside the city herself, if at all possible. He hadn't had it very long, and he still wasn't totally confident he could keep it under control. Fire Bird wasn't a kind of Shifter anyone from Earth had ever been before, and Ronon, not being Fire Bird himself, didn't really know all that much more about it than Rodney did.

And now he'd lost his focus, and John's car was far in front of his own. _Shouldn't have bet with my coffee beans, dammit_. He bent over his remote again, willing the car to pick up speed.

* * * * * * *

Evan Lorne put his palette down, stood up, and stretched luxuriously, enjoying the ability to do so almost free of pain or discomfort. He'd only been out of the infirmary for a couple of weeks, but had been working extra hard in physical therapy to make up for the time lost to injury and illness. He was still digging his way out from under all the paperwork that had piled up in his absence, but he couldn't exactly chew out Colonel Sheppard over that, when the colonel himself had been injured getting Evan out of the Genii dungeons a little over a month ago. Sheppard's arm had only been out of the sling for a little over a week, so he couldn't have really done much of it himself, even if he'd wanted to. What they both _really_ needed was an adjutant, but persuading the IOA to send them more personnel was so far, a frustrating and mostly thankless battle. 

Now, though, he had the afternoon off, and was savouring the freedom to sit on his favourite balcony and paint his favourite subject, Atlantis' ethereal crystalline skyline, on a clear and sunny afternoon. Evan had thought his painting talent gone for good, one more casualty of the life he lived as a soldier for the SGC. He'd gone nearly a decade without ever picking up either a pencil or a brush, until one morning a few months after their arrival here, when he'd looked out over the city as it lay glittering in the sun, and the next thing he knew that sun was going down, one moon was up and another was rising, and he had a dozen different sketches done, on the backs of different recycled pieces of paper. When they'd finally regained contact with Earth several months later, the first thing he'd requisitioned wasn't coffee or socks or any of the more customary items, but rather some canvas boards and a dozen tubes of paint, plus some turpentine and linseed oil to go with them. That had been over a year ago now, and he still hadn't run out of ways to paint this city, or willing people to trade for his finished pictures. And an ease had returned to his spirit, as he sketched and painted, that Evan had figured was gone forever.

His right hand was still a little stiff, the fingers not quite as flexible as they used to be. But he was doing his exercises every day, and Carson was optimistic that in time, he would regain just about all of what he'd lost in Kolya's dungeon. Next week Carson had promised to clear him for active duty once again, and Evan was more than ready. He wasn't used to having this much down time; it had been a bit of a struggle to find ways to keep busy while he healed, once he was up and about again.

Thinking of Kolya made him scowl, remembering the team-mates he'd lost on that mission. Ordnance Specialist Corey Reed, who had died in the dungeon of an untreated brain injury, and Corporal Terrence Davis, shot during their initial kidnapping, murdered by a bunch of second-rate mercenary wannabees who subsequently sold the surviving team-members to the Genii. Dr. Weir had had an evil glint in her eye, as Rodney told it, when she authorized several Jumpers full of Marines to return to Eruess and clean out the invaders, once Evan and his team had been recovered. It had been a pleasant surprise, when they found Dave Parrish hiding out among the surviving locals, still recovering from his own injuries. Until then, Evan had thought the botanist yet another casualty, but he'd simply been discarded by the invaders, clubbed across the head and tossed aside, as his picture wasn't among those on Kolya's Wanted posters. Presumably they'd thought him dead, but he'd been watching the Gate and waiting for a chance to dial out. After the returning Jumpers had vanquished the invaders, marooning them on a world with only a space Gate, Parrish had come out to greet them when they returned to give aid and comfort to the surviving Eruessan natives.

He'd changed, though. Formerly a most reluctant visitor to the shooting range, nowadays Parrish practiced diligently and was getting downright proficient, sometimes winning beers off some of the more unwary Marines, in their endless ongoing contests of skill. Hopefully he hadn't changed too much, though; Evan had always enjoyed the man's company, and his bottomless knowledge of and curiosity about the botany of the different worlds the team had visited. There were enough hard-bitten soldiers on Atlantis already, without Parrish turning into another one.

* * * * * * *

Elizabeth swam into the pool between two piers, and let herself Change from seal to human once again. She treasured these times away from her office, and the beauty she saw all around as she swam through the local waters. With Radek's help, she was slowly compiling an underwater atlas, using a waterproof camera on a special harness to form an accurate map of the undersea topography surrounding the city. Never knew when that might come in useful, and it was something she had found both satisfying and pleasant. Didn't hurt that the scientists were grateful for the knowledge; all of them had learned, during that first lonely year when they'd been cut off from Earth, to wear several different hats and carry out several different functions. As the city's civilian leader, she spent long hours in negotiations with their allies and doing paperwork for the IOA. The simple physical pleasures of an afternoon swim were not to be taken lightly.

Now, though, she climbed onto the dock and wrapped herself in the warm Athosian robe that Teyla had given her, having toweled her hair more or less dry. Once she got dressed again, she would drop off the camera and the latest batch of images at Radek's lab.

Elizabeth had a dinner invitation to go to later on, a private celebration for just two people.

After all this time alone, it seemed that the person she found so interesting found her just as interesting, and _that_ wasn't something one saw every day. She'd found the invitation on her desk just this morning, a simple piece of handmade paper with the clean Athosian glyphs cascading across one side, stating that Teyla Emmagen of Athos would be honoured by the company of Elizabeth Weir of Atlantis that evening in her quarters, if Elizabeth were so inclined.

Which she was. Who knew what would come of this, whether the two of them would fit well together or not. Elizabeth herself had refrained from issuing an invite of her own because, as leader of Atlantis, it was hard to avoid any suggestion of coercion if she said something first. Granted, Teyla wasn't exactly a pushover in any sense – but even so, old training, hard-won, had stayed her hand.

Elizabeth couldn't help smiling as she headed for her quarters. No matter what else did or did not happen tonight, she knew she was in for a pleasant evening.


	2. You Did What on Whose Back Porch for How Many Cookies?

“Hah! I _told_ you so!!”

“You're a lying liar who lies, Rodney!” 

“You're just pissed off because I was right about that slinky alien _hussy!_ ”

John stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, genuinely boggled, for once. Also, trying not to laugh out loud. “Did you just call the guardian Ancient of Proculus a 'slinky alien hussy?' Holy crap, Rodney, you sound like my great-aunt Ethel!” Visualizing the woman in question just made him snort with laughter. Rodney in a nice floral print with a conservative handbag, and... _Yeah. Think you went through the Gate too many times lately, Sheppard_. 

Rodney was scowling, now – a sure sign the zinger had gone home. _My work here is done_...

“Ha, ha, very funny. Which does not change the fact that you didn't believe me and I was right all along!” Never let it be said that Dr. Rodney McKay, Ph.D, Ph.D hid his light under a bushel.

John sighed. “All right. Yes, you were right,” then shot his favourite geek an evil grin. “Which does not change the fact that you sounded just like my great-aunt, right or not.” Then he made up for it. “I do have some good news for you, though. Elkins says there's chocolate pudding in the mess for lunch.”

“Really?” Aaand... there went the eyebrow. John nodded, grinning. Rodney was way too much fun. He tried not to push him too far, but sometimes, he just couldn't resist winding him up.

“Yep. And it's almost lunchtime now. We could always knock off a little early and get there before the crowd does.” He waggled his eyebrows. _C'mon, Rodney. I'm bored. Let's go eat_.

“Hm. I could eat. You talked me into it. I could use more coffee, too – I have entirely too much stupid paperwork to file.” John grinned. Damn, that was impressive; scowl to smile to scowl again in 2.31 seconds. Welcome to McKay World...

They turned pretty much in unison, and headed for the nearest transporter with all due haste. Chocolate pudding was serious business, dammit.

“What do you mean, you have paperwork? Thought you just dumped it all on Radek.”

“Normally, I do.” The transporter doors swished open and they walked in. Rodney punched the button nearest the mess hall. “But Zelenka's off for a week, after Kavanaugh nearly fried him yesterday. I'm _done_ with that idiot. The Daedalus is leaving for Earth tomorrow morning, and he is going to be on it if I have to trank him and carry him over myself. Elizabeth actually signed off on it this time.”

John waited until they were setting their trays down at their team's customary table, out on the balcony. This wasn't really a conversation the enlisted personnel needed to hear. “Wow. What'd he do, anyway? All we heard in Ops was, Radek had an accident and was taken to the infirmary.”

“Oh, no. Radek got hurt because Kavanaugh went messing where I'd specifically forbidden him to go, and reactivated the console Radek was working on. That was the absolute last straw. I don't care _whose_ damned nephew he is. If the esteemed Senator from Oklahoma actually likes the guy so much, let him find him a job on Earth. Radek could have been _killed!_ ”

“Works for me. I've had to send one or two so-called assets back to Earth, more than once. That's if the Pegasus effect doesn't just get them killed to begin with.”

Rodney nodded, then grinned nastily. “Want to know the funniest part?”

“What?”

“I _saw_ him chicken out. He was frowning at me and waving his finger about under my nose, the way he always does, and all of a sudden his eyes got real wide, his face got all pale, and he just shut right up.” He favoured John with his patented McKay #6 Pwned!smirk. “Too bad he wasn't so cautious when he nearly fried Radek. He'd better not think I'm going to give him any kind of reference.”

John laughed. “Hey, you never know. I sent one bonehead back to O'Neill with a mushroom cloud and a skull and crossbones drawn on the form. Elizabeth told me O'Neill laughed like a hyena when he saw it. Never griped at me, either.”

“Now that's an idea!” Rodney popped open his second-favourite laptop, the one he usually took to the mess hall, and started typing rapidly. John took another bite of his sandwich and smiled, watching the show. It never got old.

* * * * * * *

Carson Beckett had worked late into the night, putting the finishing touches on his presentation. It was so important that Elizabeth sign on for this. It could make all the difference, if only he could find the right words and solve the remaining technical problems. He went over his speech and over it, polishing, tweaking the words obsessively. It wasn't until 3 o'clock in the morning that he was finally satisfied. 

He _really_ wanted to get this one right.

* * * * * * *

“Absolutely _not!_ Carson, nothing good will come of this.” Elizabeth could hardly believe what she was hearing. “By all the standards I know, this would be considered a war crime.”

“But Elizabeth... They _eat_ us, for god's sakes. It's a Wraith, not a human being. Not at first, anyway.”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet and began to pace, too full of outrage to sit still. “You want my permission to capture a live Wraith, so you can conduct biological warfare experiments on it and turn it into some kind of almost-human being? Well, you won't get it. There are so many things you could do to help fight the Wraith – but I draw the line at _this_. Remember what happened with the Hoffans, how violently the Wraith responded once their biowarfare program was discovered? The Wraith killed almost every one of them, and smashed everything they'd ever built, to boot. And that was just for making some of their potential food supply taste nasty. What do you suppose the Wraith would do to Atlantis, if we were the source of a virus that could turn them from being Wraith – proud, powerful, effectively immortal – back to being just some other, more fortunate Wraith's afternoon human snack? They wouldn't stop bombing us until the rubble that was left sank once more, this time for good!

“Not to mention, if we did do this, we'd be no better than they are. I see you frowning there, doctor – but this is exactly the sort of thing I came out here to prevent. You've seen for yourself how many times the Ancients screwed things up, then blithely walked away. What exactly were you planning on doing with this Wraith, once you change him so he isn't a Wraith any longer – were you thinking of letting him go, so he could lead our enemies here? Or were you just going to kill him afterwards. Either way, the answer is _no_. This project is vetoed.” Elizabeth was mad enough to chew nails and spit out rivets. There were some things you just did not do, no matter who the enemy was. Otherwise, what was the difference between them and the Wraith?

“But Elizabeth--” Give Carson due credit, he genuinely meant well. Unfortunately, that couldn't disguise what the doctor had just asked of her.

She sat back down and took a deep breath, meeting his eyes again. “ _No_ , Carson. And there's an end of it. I expect better of us, than this. I expect better from _you_ than this. Aren't there Athosians, as well as our own people, who need your time?” 

His shoulders drooped. “Aye, we've patients enough, lass. But so many times, there's nothing we can do. If someone's fed on, they usually die, even when the feeding is incomplete. I think it's just the shock to the system, you know? It's too much, too fast, and they have a heart attack or a stroke, and that's it. And there's so damned _many_ of them, and so very few of us. It's not just the feedings. It's the way they destroy civilizations if they dare develop anything more advanced than Earth during the Dark Ages. The bastards _need_ killin', in the worst damned way!” He was making puppy-dog eyes at her, but Elizabeth Weir had been winning contests of will for a living, as a diplomat, for years, and all the puppy eyes in the world were not going to change her mind this time.

“That's as may be – but I _know_ there are still childhood illnesses that need treatments devised, parasites to treat, all kinds of things that our own personnel might catch, given that we're almost all pretty much garden-variety humans in both galaxies. And I know for a fact you're still bothered by the fact that you helped the Hoffans develop what turned out to be the final version of the drug. How well would you handle a whole extra layer of guilt and shame on top of that? How would you reconcile the lives that would be lost when it all went wrong? Because I can promise you, that's how it would end up, when all was said and done. No. I'll make this easy, Carson. You can blame it on me, if that's what you need to do. My decision is final.”

Carson looked rebellious for a minute or two, then slowly the anger and defiance ebbed and he just stood there quietly. A sigh escaped him. “All right. I do get the point. I'll send ye what I've got, then delete the program. It's only about half-written yet, so there's not that much to delete.”

“Send me every bit of it.”

“Aye.” Another sigh. “Every bit it shall be. I just--”

“ _Carson_.” Her tone was soft, her gaze deliberately intense. Time to redirect.

“What?” His voice wobbled a bit, residual adrenaline most likely.

She let herself smile, just a little. “It's all right. I don't think you're a villain at heart. I just think you get a little carried away sometimes. We all do, now and then.” She clapped him on the shoulder, moving slowly enough not to spook him. Carson could get a little... _excitable_ at times. “Go ahead and take a day off. You can do anything you want except spend the day in your lab. Just one day, okay? Maybe you can go fishing, check out that stream you were telling me about the other day.”

Was that relief she saw in his eyes? Elizabeth was pretty sure that it was. All the more confirmation that she had made the right decision here, and that Carson himself knew it, deep down, aside from his entirely understandable geekish enthusiasm and the whole “We're doing it For Science!” mindset that was all too common out here. The expedition was composed quite literally of Earth's best and brightest, and they all got a little carried away at times...

Carson sighed. “Aye, all right. I'll save the files and set them aside. Perhaps we can do something else with the data I got so far.”

“That works for me.” She got out from behind her desk and extended a hand. “So, Carson, would you like to go get a cup of tea with me?”

“I could drink some tea. Right then, let's go, before they drink it all and we're stuck with Lipton's again, or that bloody awful stuff the Athosians drink.” Both of them shuddered, in unison. Lipton's was _vile_ , really, once you got used to drinking the real thing again. And the Athosian tea wasn't really tea at all, nor did it satisfy the craving for a nice cuppa. _Bless the Daedalus. Long may she sail!_


	3. Thank God It's Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I knew I'd gotten the bit about Radek's horror over John reading _War and Peace_ from somewhere, and just figured out where: bomberqueen17's most excellent story _Thawing From the Inside_ , which is over on AO3 and very worth a read! So we catalyze one another; fandom rocks! And credit where 'tis due!

“This is really good, Teyla.” Elizabeth took another bite. The stew tasted of fruit, almost-chicken, assorted root vegetables, and something Elizabeth would have sworn was nice, hot Bengali curry powder. Freshly ground and blended curry powder, at that. Elizabeth had eaten the real thing on diplomatic missions many times, and she wasn't easily fooled. It was delicious, as was the bread it came with. It didn't taste like the bread in the mess hall – but it was fresh and a little nutty, almost sweet in the background, with delicate hints of unfamiliar spices throughout. _Hm. I wonder if I can get some of this curry spice?_ She would have to think of something she could trade for it. Elizabeth loved a good hot curry.

“Charin will be happy to hear it; she was kind enough to make it for me, as we have both despaired of my ever learning to cook as she herself does.” She sounded embarrassed, but Elizabeth hadn't missed the twinkle in the other woman's eyes. Teyla was widely famed as a horrible cook, something she herself usually hastened to say first, so as to head the likes of Rodney off at the pass -- with middling effectiveness. Then again, redirecting Rodney could be challenging at the best of times.

Elizabeth's contribution to the meal was a pot of jasmine green tea, from her private stash. Dr. Novak, of the Daedalus, had brought it for her, since both of them enjoyed a nice pot of green tea now and then. Which was fortunate, since Amazon still didn't deliver to the Pegasus galaxy. Yet...

She sighed happily, chasing the last of her stew around her bowl with a heel of the bread. She hadn't felt this relaxed in ages. But it had been a pretty quiet week, for a change, and she was caught up on all her paperwork and free to enjoy the evening, without feeling guilty for leaving the office on time. She looked around the room, amazed at how warm and homey Teyla had made it. The richly-patterned Athosian textiles, the warm yellow candle-light, just a trace of incense scenting the air; it was a far cry from the stark emptiness of many of Atlantis' rooms, of which there were far more than there were expedition members to fill them. Elizabeth could almost imagine herself in a tent in the desert, like someone out of one of the period novels that were her secret vice.

She'd been a little nervous, on her way over here, but Teyla quickly set her at ease, sharing tales of the antics of her team, and serving the meal with her usual catlike grace. They had yet to speak of what either wanted, but Elizabeth could tell they were both on the same page, and she felt quite content to wait and see where this might take them. And it was very nice indeed to relax for a change, without worrying about appearing professional or hurting someone's feelings.

This was nice. No pressure, just a pleasant sense of anticipation, an extra sparkle in Teyla's eye, an ease and comfort she thought she'd forgotten how to feel, these last few years.

* * * * * * *

“Evan-kun?” Evan looked up from his laptop and smiled.

“Oh, hey, Miko-chan, I'm just about done here, if you don't mind waiting a minute.”

Miko smiled back, just enough to show her feelings. She was never going to be as exuberant as the rest of her colleagues, but Evan didn't care. Miko felt right to him, both in his human shape and as Fox. She had since the first moment he'd met her, not 20 minutes after he beamed off the Daedalus. He'd come round a corner and nearly bumped into Dr. McKay, who'd been busily tearing a strip off of the unfortunate Dr. Feldman's ass, while Miko stood in the background with just this same faint smile on her face. She was far too polite to have ever said so, but even Miko had found Philip Feldman difficult to tolerate. The man was so abrasive he'd made McKay look polite, not to mention far too convinced of his personal importance to the Atlantis expedition.

As Evan recalled it, McKay had sent the man packing back to Earth with his tail between his legs not too long afterwards, to no-one's surprise but that of Feldman himself.

And that was it. Last report for the day, and he was done. He typed the last sentence, hit save, then send, and turned off the laptop as soon as it sent. He picked it up, closed the office behind him, thought the door locked, and he and Miko headed towards the mess hall. Rumor had it Ronon had brought the cooks a deer yesterday, and they'd promised something special tonight, for those who liked real food instead of MRE's.

Miko probably wouldn't eat a lot of the meat; she pretty much ate like a bird anyway – but she certainly wouldn't object to Evan enjoying some himself. She was awesome like that.

Evan Lorne felt like a pretty lucky man, all things considered. Especially given that a month ago, he'd thought himself about to die in the Genii dungeons. 

Elizabeth had dubbed it “the Pegasus effect” during that first year, before Evan got here, and the name had stuck. There was just something about this place – either you learned to adapt, real fast, or you ended up as Wraith food, or got shipped home in disgrace. In which case, good luck with your career.

The mess hall doors swished open, and both of them headed for the chow line. Mmm, that meat smelled _delicious_. Evan inhaled the scent deeply; it made him think of fall nights back home, when him and his dad had been the ones to bring home the deer. He couldn't wait to see what Sergeant Elkins had made with it; whatever it was, Evan figured he'd enjoy the taste.

As it turned out, there was both almost-venison stew, sort of a Pegasus version of boeuf bourguignon, as well as some bacon-wrapped venison roast, much like his dad used to cook. Evan couldn't make up his mind, so he went for helpings of both. Weight control wasn't a real big issue out here; life in Pegasus had ways of running you thin whether you wanted that or not.

Meanwhile, Miko delicately picked out a small slice of the roast, and filled the rest of her plate with local vegetables and rice – courtesy of the newly-arrived Daedalus. This was the first time they'd had rice in almost three months, since the Daedalus couldn't make the trip all that often. After a quick glance around showed most of their friends hadn't got here yet, Evan and Miko settled on a small corner table, and sat down to enjoy their supper.

* * * * * * *

“Rodney, come on! If we don't get moving there won't be anything left to eat except MREs – and I _hate_ MREs, dammit!” Rodney was helping John to restock Jumper #1, which they'd taken through the Gate earlier that day. He could have left it to the hangar crew, but John preferred to stock his favourite Jumper himself. Better discipline, and also fewer rude surprises offworld. Rodney usually didn't bother, but on this occasion he had volunteered to help. He'd been doing that for a while, actually; John had his hopes as for why, but hadn't quite figured out how to approach the subject yet. He was far from being the Kirk type Rodney often accused him of being. Other than his good right hand and that weird shared glowing stuff with Chaya, he couldn't remember the last time he'd shared a bed with another living being. Probably at least a year. Hell, longer than that, now that he thought about it. _Pretty pathetic, Sheppard_.

Rodney huffed at the slur against his third favourite food, after coffee and chocolate. “I don't see why. They're the perfect food – they never go bad or get stale, and they always taste the same, and you can see exactly what the ingredients are, unlike most of the mess hall's food.”

“Yeah, well, it's hard to go bad when there's no real food in them to begin with.” Finished with the various weapons cases, John started in on the general supplies, i.e., rope, batteries, emergency blankets, water purifiers, all that stuff. They hadn't used any of it on this trip, so that part of the check went fast.

Rodney huffed. “Speak for yourself. When I was in Siberia, we treasured the MREs; compared to the local slop, they were haute cuisine. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff those guys like to eat. Two words, Major -- moose eyeballs. Oh, and let's not forget the delights of fermented whale blubber. Yummy.” He finished repacking the medkit and put it back in the rack. “What's the big hurry tonight, anyway? Usually, I have to drag you to the mess hall.”

“There's venison tonight. Ronon brought a deer in this morning, and Elkins promised me venison for dinner. And I like venison, and I'd like to get there while there's still some left!” And that was the supplies done. This had been a pretty quick trip. John glanced over his clipboard, and realized they were done for the night. At least, they would be, if Rodney would move a bit faster. “Come on, aren't you done yet?”

Rodney smirked, and closed and stowed the parts case he'd been checking. “Okay. Now I'm done.”

“Finally!” No sooner did their feet leave the deck than John thought the Jumper hatch closed and told it to go to sleep for the night. “Come on, race you to the mess hall. Last one there is a rotten geek.”

“Nah. Go ahead if you want. Me, I prefer to approach my meal peacefully calm, as opposed to sweaty and exhausted. We do enough of that offworld, thank you very much.” But he did condescend to walk a little faster, given that John was in one of his hyper moods again. “Anyway, what do you want to watch tonight? I've got the new season of Dr. Who, just in, complete.”

“Huh. I forgot it was movie night. Yeah, Dr. Who works for me.” It wasn't the show itself, so much, that John enjoyed. Rather, he enjoyed seeing Rodney tear it apart, like a terrier with a big, juicy rat. He could watch that all damn night, cheerfully. Beat hell out of War and Peace any day, although he was still slogging away at that now and then.

Radek had shaken his head and sighed, when confronted with a man who read 19th-century Russian literature for _fun_. John now had plenty of other media to choose from, supplied by Radek and his willing accomplices – but he was just stubborn enough to keep reading anyway. Never let it be said John Sheppard was short on sheer orneriness, nope, not at all.

Rodney agreed with Radek. There were already too many things clamouring for his time and attention, to waste any on War and Peace. It was fun to tease Sheppard about it, though.

* * * * * * *

Sharya crouched lower among the bushes, careful to keep the baby wrapped up against the cold. The last thing she wanted was to be spotted by the invaders and taken prisoner. The soldiers in the green and brown uniforms had already captured many from her village, bound their hands, and marched them through the Ancestral Ring at gunpoint. And that was after they'd torched most of the village and nearly emptied the food stores that had been meant to last the whole winter.

Those of her people who remained, free, like her, were going to have to trade their labour offworld for food, now. Most of what the invaders couldn't carry away had either been burned or damaged in the fierce battles over the last two days. They couldn't match the invaders in firepower, but her people had given a good account of themselves regardless, making up in ferocity what they lacked in weaponry.

She'd never seen these particular uniforms before, but she had certainly heard their name for themselves. The name Genii was not one that any planetary population wanted to hear. Nothing good ever came of a visit by the Genii; they were the human equivalent of locusts and mold, bringing only destruction in their wake.

What Sharya was waiting for now was their departure, which looked as though it would happen fairly soon. Somewhere in the smashed ruins of the headman's hut, there was a small device, given to them by the Lanteans, a thing that could be used to call for help. They'd been gifted with it last summer, after the Lanteans helped with the harvest in trade for a share of it, and both parties had been happy with the trade.

She didn't know exactly what the Lanteans could do here, but she did have some information they could use, gathered over the last two days of skulking about and staying hidden. She was just lucky her baby was still at suck, giving her a ready-made way to pacify him when hunger made him cranky. If the baby had cried out loud where the soldiers could hear him, Sharya would probably be a prisoner on another world already, and the Ancestors alone knew what would have become of the baby.

His father had been lost right after he was born, casualty of an unexpected culling on a world where he'd gone to trade his labour for much-needed refined metals, things the village smiths could use to make tools for the fields. Sharya hated the Wraith and always would – but right then, she hated the Genii almost as much, for the carnage they had created here. She very much hoped that the Lanteans would someday defeat the Genii, and prevent any more raids like this one. The Genii had no right at all to their hard-earned harvest, much less to enslave Sharya's friends and kin. The ghosts of her dead cried out for vengeance within her, and Sharya burned with a need to deliver that vengeance.

Aha. The Ring had just been activated, and as Sharya watched from her hiding place, the last of the swaggering soldiers nudged their last few captives through it. It swirled and shut off behind them.

Good. After watching for a while longer, in case they'd left anyone behind to trap stragglers, Sharya carefully climbed out of hiding, snuggled her baby closer to her breast, and picked her way through the wreckage toward the remains of the headman's hut. She had a device to find, and some news to deliver.


	4. Midnight At The Oasis...

“Ready?”

“Yep. Firing now...”

There was a woosh and a flash of energy, then a drone came out of thin air, where Sheppard was lurking in Jumper One. Rodney huffed, focused his will, and reached out with his mind, the way Cadman had been teaching him to do.

The drone was a slippery little bastard, zigging and zagging, fighting him almost like a live thing, though actually it was Sheppard – no, _John_ – controlling it. Even so, it didn't take long for Rodney to seize control of the thing, shut it down, and bring it to ground.

Sound of a Jumper's rear hatch opening, and John stepped delicately out of thin air as he left the Jumper's cloaking field. “Wow, it only took you 35 seconds, this time. Not to mention, the whole salvaging the drone to use it again is seriously cool!” He was grinning like the doofus he really was, though usually he was cleverly disguised as a Srs Bzns Military Officer – at least, to the unitiated.

That was okay. He was _Rodney's_ doofus, that was the important thing. “Yeah, it kind of is, huh. Thanks for not trying to talk me out of it!”

John inclined his head. “Welcome. Figured if all else failed, I'd just think it into the ground and set it off. Now _this_ , this could come in very handy out in the field. Totally worth the possible loss of a drone. I wonder what other weapons you could do this to?” On the subject of pyrotechnics, Rodney and John were truly of one mind.

Slanting McKay grin, as Rodney bounced on his toes, excited. “Theoretically, anything explosive or combustible. I already know I can cook off bullets from a fair distance away. That's how we cleared out the Genii that were guarding the Gate, on our way out of that dump.” Rodney had walked up to the powered-down drone and was busily scanning it now, not looking up, absorbed in his readings.

“Cool trick, if you ask me.” He remembered what else Rodney had done that day, calling lightning – or making it, no-one who had been there was really sure – and chucking it down the Genii access hatch, so they could hop out of the Jumper and rescue him, Simmons, and Garcia. _Pretty fucking awesome_. And at that, he realized there was something he needed to say after all, something he probably should have said before this.

“Hey, Rodney.”

“Hmm? What?” 

“Just wanted to say, thanks, man. For the save, on the way out of Kolya's dungeon. Much obliged.”

“Self preservation. Where else am I going to find a team leader I can stand, much less one I kind of like, most of the time.” The blue eyes were glittering, daring John to call him on it.

John's mom hadn't raised no fools. “Heh. Yeah, well, same back atcha. Did you know, I tried to get Dr. Holmes to come down to the range yesterday. She's been here 4 months now and still hasn't qualified on even the M9 pistol. You would have thought I propositioned her grandma in the street bare-ass naked, the way that woman reacted. Why Elizabeth thought she'd be a good Gate Team member, I have no idea.”

Rodney snorted, amused. “Well, she is a linguist; Jackson speaks well of her, as far as that goes. Of course, Jackson's got a few screws loose himself, so... Heh. No. If you're looking for a good field scientist, check out Dr. Mendez Carrillo. She's got a pretty new geology doctorate, but I've seen her papers and she's actually got a brain, unlike half the people the SGC sends out here. Plus, she did some ROTC in college, so she probably won't faint when you put a weapon in her hands, much less shoot herself in the foot like Smithers did. And geologists spend a lot of time camped out in the field, so she'll be able to handle herself that way, too.” As for Dr. Holmes, well. She was either going to start producing results in the lab, qualify for a Gate Team, or she could go home on the Daedalus and let someone less pig-headed take her place. It wasn't like there weren't several dozen good candidates waiting for a chance to work here. It was one of the best things about their renewed contact with Earth, really. Well, after the new supply of coffee.

“Cool. I'll check her out. Elizabeth asked me to put together a backup team, one we can send out to actually do some of the work the first-in teams bargain for, while gathering more info. Save us doing so much farm work, which is fine by me. I don't mind pitching in to help, but there is no way planting new rice seedlings in the spring is ever gonna be one of my favourite things. And I like the sound of putting a geologist out there; there are all kinds of minerals and other things we need and could use, that none of our current team members really know where to look for.” He glanced down at the drone, now cradled between Rodney's hands. “Almost done with that thing yet?”

“Close enough. As far as the scanner can tell, it might never have left the weapons rack.”

“Nice. So the next time we're in a space battle, you'll be able to control the other side's drones, photon torpedos, whatever those things are that the Darts shoot. We can frag twice as many Wraith. Very cool! What's next on the agenda?”

“I'd like to try this out on some of the different kinds of grenades, if that's okay.”

“Oh _hell_ yeah! Lemme get some out of the Jumper. Be right back.” Now John's grin was practically ear-to-ear. A motion to blow shit up is always in order!

* * * * * * *

The two of them finished eating and settled down in Rodney's quarters to watch more Dr. Who. Both of them were slightly preoccupied. It was one thing to pine in silence. To find that regard returned in kind, well. What exactly did you say next? Neither had ever really expected to find himself in this exact situation. So they watched, glanced at one another a lot, grinned just the tiniest bit nervously, and watched some more. John didn't know whether he was annoyed, or amused. Most likely, both at once. He never promised to be consistent, after all. 

Just the same, this was getting kind of ridiculous. He took a deep breath, figuring out what he wanted to say – and right then, Elizabeth's voice came over their radios, calling AR1 to the briefing room, stat. _Crap_. Yeah, this was definitely his life.

Blue eyes met green. Nothing good was going to come from this. Rodney allowed himself one very small sigh, then hopped off the bed, grabbed his laptop, and followed John out the door. Oh well, it could have been worse. At least neither one of them had taken his boots off yet. Heh.

And... yeah. He'd been right. Definitely nothing good. There'd been another raid on one of their allies, the Kwenaians, this time. Fucking Genii, yet _again_.

“I knew we should have just blown that whole damned warren to ash and gone,” Rodney groused, after they watched the recording Chuck had made of the distress call from Sharya, on P1X-379. Ronon just snorted, and Teyla looked inscrutable. Neither saw a need to be too dramatic. Both took it as given that the next time their team went through the Gate, it was going to be in response to this situation. All Ronon's knives were newly sharpened anyway – he'd been bored, what! – and Teyla was pretty much ready to go pretty much all the time, because she was just that awesome.

“So,” Elizabeth pulled her own tablet closer and typed for a few moments. “What do we want to do about this?”

John looked thoughtful. “Not sure. If we had better intel, I'd say just strike the bastards where they live, see how many of the captives we could liberate. But we've no idea whether they were taken to the Genii homeworld, or to one of the worlds they mine for radioactives, or sold to the slavers, or what.”

Rodney looked up from his keyboard for a moment. “Actually, I might be able to help with that. I've got Zelenka working on a patch, something we can use to download recent dial-outs from the Kwenaian Gate. I'll let you know as soon as we get something usable.”

“I'd like to get a couple of teams and Jumpers ready to go, Elizabeth. That way, when we get an answer we can just go, right then.”

“All right. Good hunting, Colonel.” Elizabeth had changed, since arriving in Pegasus. They all had.

“Yeah, let's hope so.” John watched Elizabeth leave, then both his team and Stackhouse's team huddled together, to plan how best to get this done.

* * * * * * *

This was Evan's third visit to the gym in the last 2 days. He felt like he was crawling right out of his skin. He was so close to going back on duty, and it plain stuck in his craw to sit at home while Sheppard and the others went offworld without him. Never mind that his surviving team-mates were no more up to it yet than he was; that wasn't the point. He was second in command, and he ought to be out there. It was his job to protect Sheppard, since the man didn't seem inclined to protect himself.

So instead, he'd wrapped his hands, signed for his time slot, and worked over the heavy bag with fists, feet, elbows – everything but his teeth and the kitchen sink. He'd been at it long enough that he had become lost in the rhythm. It felt very good to just cut loose; for too long, he hadn't had the strength.

Till he saw Miko approaching, from his left side. She was a safe distance away; always practical, that was Miko, but just the sight of her interrupted Evan's semi-trance.

“Evan-kun – you have been down here now for an hour. I came to see if you would take tea with me.” She had that little half-smile on her face, and Evan remembered, as always, that he could refuse Miko nothing that she truly wanted. To him, the challenge was most often to have her accept enough of what he wanted her to have, not to keep her from wanting too much. He took a couple steps back, and let the bag's swing dampen by itself as he mopped his face and neck with a towel.

Just the effort it took to catch his breath told him that yeah, he'd overdone it. He took a few deep swallows from his water bottle, then capped it again. “Sorry, Miko – thanks for coming down here! Give me 5 minutes and I'll be out by the door and ready to roll.”

It only took him about a minute longer than that to come back out clean, mostly dry, and dressed in warmer clothes. 

Bless her for coming to fetch him. It had felt good to smack the bag around, but he could already tell he was going to be feeling this for real, tomorrow. Best to stop while he could still get back to quarters under his own power. He could just imagine the kinds of things Carson would have to say to him, should the doctor happen to learn of this.

Evan stopped walking for a moment. Once Miko noticed, she stopped, too. Which was when Evan clasped his hands together and bowed, allowing his ears to shift, just long enough to show up fox-russet amongst his own darker-hued pelt.

She simply nodded, very light and fast, businesslike. Then she, too, clasped her hands and bowed. 

Both of them turned in unison, then, and started loping down the hall towards their quarters. Evan could feel his spirit settling down, as he walked. Miko carried such _peace_ within and around herself.

Her avatar in Atlantis' computer system was a traditionally-dressed miko, a pun Evan never got tired of, that most of their crewmates were completely clueless about. He found it amusing that she had such a strong effect on the people around her. She had no less of an effect on him, truthfully.

As always, by the time she actually began to prepare and serve the tea itself, Evan's heartbeat was slow and steady, his breath slipping effortlessly in and out. He had ceased his mental hamster-wheel run, and simply sat, not even waiting. Just being. He let go of his anxiety, his impatience. It was okay to let himself relax. The more anxious and uptight he let himself get, the slower his healing would progress.

Instead, he let himself submerge into the timeless rhythms, the focused attention, the ancient ebb and flow of the tea ceremony.

* * * * * * *

“All right, Rodney, where did the villagers go? They were here two weeks ago, so what happened between then and now?” John was pacing back and forth, and he was _flickering_ , almost at the limits of perception. Though he still walked on two booted feet, there was something even more feline than usual about him.

That should not be so disturbingly hot, dammit. Especially not here, where he could do nothing about that hotness. Rodney shook his head, and focused his attention on the lifesigns detector again. “They aren't anywhere within this thing's range, not any more. They're just _gone_.”

Teyla had been listening. “Sharya told us that most of her people were bound and then marched through the Gate like cattle.” The woman had been too frightened to speak to him or John, but Teyla had eventually been able to win her confidence.

Rodney nodded. “That would fit. Because there aren't even enough dead people present to account for the population we knew was here. Not even close. And I'm not seeing any Wraith DNA, nor any Dart engine radiation, not even decaying. I don't think these people were culled.”

John pointed at the nearest weapons damage. There were none of the usual beam-weapon burns. Not one, as far as they could see. “I don't think they were, either. I'm seeing conventional small-arms damage here, a few mortar rounds, that's about it. And definitely nothing from the air. No Dart fire, and no orbital strikes either. And we know the Genii no longer have any air power; that's why they were so keen on getting our Puddle Jumpers. Which is really stupid, given that almost none of them have even a vestige of the ATA gene.”

“Yeah, I always wondered how they figured that was gonna work. Were they planning on kidnapping our pilots, too?”

“Heh, I'd have liked to see them try it; wouldn't take me long to disabuse them of _that_ notion, once I got in the cockpit. And if they'd kidnapped you, well. All hell would break loose right about then.”

Rodney huffed, grinning. “Yeah, that would have been fun, while it lasted.” He spun in a circle, holding the detector. “Hey, wait a minute. I'm getting some life signs here, now. They're about a klick away, that direction.” He pointed. “About a dozen of them so far. They must have been underground, and now they're coming up for air.”

“Okay. Let's go see what we're dealing with. Ronon, I want you on point. I'll take our six. Lock and load, everybody; these are probably _not_ friendlies.” They set off, in their customary formation, surrounding Rodney while he worked the detector. At least he remembered he had a pistol, these days. John could work with that.

They'd been approaching for nearly ten minutes when Rodney frowned and reset the device. “Damn. We've got another half-dozen life signs now; the newer ones are off in that direction. And Sheppard – they're between us and the Gate.”

“That doesn't end well. Any signs they know we're here?”

“Sure looks like it. Both parties are trying to flank us.”

“Crap. All right, heads up everyone. Time to get back to the Gate. Rodney – be ready.” After that, no-one spoke, as the team moved through the brush. They were practiced at this, working smoothly together, each of them on high alert, nearly silent even in human form.

They made it most of the way back before the flanking groups closed in. Rodney had just built a ball of blue fire and was about to throw it when a stunner blast took him down. The fireball dissipated instantly, as he sprawled in the dirt. Ronon grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder, as he scanned the bushes, looking for something or someone to shoot at. He met John's eye and nodded; Ronon would make sure Rodney got back to the Gate. 

John grimaced, trying to see in all directions at once, dodge around the bushes, maintain covering fire, and still approach the Gate. He could hear Teyla's P90, and Ronon's blaster, interspersed with the flatter, quieter fire of the Genii weapons. The next few moments were a confused blur of weapons fire, dodging and scraping, aim, fire, turn and repeat. Finally he heard the sound he'd been waiting for; Teyla and Ronon had reached the Gate. He heard the DHD dial in, Ronon's covering fire keeping the Genii at a semi-polite distance. He shot one of the Genii between him and the Gate, and took the second one out with a spear-hand to the throat. The way was clear, now. He cut between the last few scraggly trees in time to see first Teyla, then Ronon, still carrying McKay, go flying through the Gate. He dropped his head and poured on the power, accelerating toward the safety of home–

–only to have his feet yanked out from under him, as something struck him high on the back and stuck, leaving John to crash to the ground in an awkward tumble, his weapon flying loose as he smacked his face in the dirt. It took him a few stunned seconds to blink and raise his head, just in time to see the wormhole disengage. After that, when he turned his head, he wasn't surprised at all by what he saw.

“ _Kolya!_ ”


	5. Stupid Wraith Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some dialogue bits from the show -- fair use, innit.

“Nice to see you again, Colonel Sheppard. It has been some time.”

 _Crap_. No forgetting that voice, not in this life anyway. “Yeah? Can't say the same back, I'm afraid.” John was belatedly coming to the realization that capturing him must have been Kolya's real plan all along. Oh, the slaves and goods seized here today would definitely help the Genii to pay the bills. But the look in Kolya's dead, flat little eyes chilled John's bones.

Fuckit. He'd been to this dance once already, in Afghanistan, before he even knew the Stargate existed. Whatever Kolya figured to get out of this, John would do his absolute _damnedest_ to fuck that up.

One of the Genii walked up to him and did something to the back of his tac vest. He heard a couple of clicks, then saw the man walking away with the now-disengaged harpoon gun.

“Fancy gadget.”

Kolya _smiled_ at him, like he wanted them to be BFFs forever. “To capture an extraordinary solder requires extraordinary methods.” Okay, now _that_ was just creepy. _Obsessed fanboy much, dude?_ Best not to give him any further ideas, so John smirked, and let it pass. Still, might as well get up now. Lying on his belly on the ground was not his idea of a good time, ever.

It cheered him up a little bit, to see how closely, and nervously, Kolya's troops watched him get to his feet. _Whatsa matter, boys, ya scared?_ But he didn't say that, either. Kolya pointed at him, and a couple of his goons relieved John of tac vest, weapons, and pack. Fuckers even took his canteen. That was just wrong, dammit. He stayed silent. Never let them see you sweat.

He watched closely as they dialed out; it might come in useful. Worth a try...

* * * * * * *

Ronon no sooner lowered Rodney carefully to the floor, than the wormhole disengaged. Wait a minute, _what?_

“Where's Colonel Sheppard?” Elizabeth was already halfway down the stairs from Ops.

“He was right behind us, I thought.” Teyla and Ronon exchanged worried glances.

Ronon straightened up, scowling at the Gate. “Yeah, he _was_ right behind us. Maybe three steps back? He should be here already.”

“Chuck?”

“On it, Dr. Weir. Dialing now.” And of course, it wouldn't engage. Ronon scowled even harder, as he dodged around the medteam busily lifting Rodney onto a stretcher.

“Keep trying, would you?” 

“Yes ma'am, I will.” Chuck was already resetting it for his next attempt.

She turned to face Teyla. “All right. Now what happened?”

“We were trying to find the villagers, without success. A group of life signs appeared on the detector, followed by a second group, which was between us and the Gate. We had almost reached the Gate before they crossed our path and a firefight occurred. Rodney was hit by a stunner, and Ronon picked him up. The three of us entered the Gate, with John right behind us. And then he did not arrive here.” Teyla's usual calm sounded a little ragged just then, but it was perfectly understandable, in Elizabeth's opinion. She was feeling pretty damned rattled herself, to be honest.

“Ronon?”

He looked away from the Gate to answer her. “What Teyla said. He should be here. We need to go back, Elizabeth.”

The Gate kawooshed, and the wormhole was established. Elizabeth nodded firmly, the moment it settled. “You have a go. Let me know what you find.” Ronon had turned the moment she nodded, and was already across the event horizon before she'd finished speaking. Teyla, and Stackhouse's team, went through right behind him, weapons drawn and ready, just in case.

Not five minutes later, though, they were back, minus the two men Stackhouse had detailed to watch the Gate on that side. “No joy, Dr. Weir. There's no sign of anyone over there, now. No fresh tracks leaving the Gate area, so they took him offworld, it looks like.”

“Understood.” Elizabeth tapped her radio. “Dr. Zelenka?”

“Yes, what.”

“Just wanted to know how your DHD patch is coming along. Colonel Sheppard has been captured and transported offworld, so we could use it about now.”

“Ah, _again?_ Yes, all right. One moment, and I send it to you.” Ronon couldn't help snorting at Zelenka's comment. Sheppard _did_ seem to get captured a lot. It was a gift. Or something.

* * * * * * *

John was _pissed_. Captured, again. Held hostage, again. Weapons and kit gone, _again_. And when he'd tried to bust his way out from between Kolya's idiot goons, one of them had hit him with a damned Tazer, or at least, the bargain-basement Genii knockoff. So now he was bruised, filthy, thirsty as hell, sore all over, and half his muscles were knotted, nearly useless. He paced the cell while he tried to loosen up, then tried rattling the bars. Lots of noise, but nothing useful. The bars were rusty, but solid. 

“Kolya? I didn't kill you last time, remember?” He turned away, and mumbled, “You promised me points for that.” Not really, but _shit_. He rattled the bars again. “ _Kolya!_ ”

He turned to pace the other way, disgusted. “Should have just killed him, dammit.”

“You are wasting your breath.”

“Huh. Didn't know I had company down here.” Whoever he was, the guy sounded like ten miles of bad road. Hoarse, soft-voiced, his speech slow and halting, words slurred...

“There is no escape.”

“Yeah, well.” John grabbed the bars blocking the opening between their cells, and gave them, too, a good sharp rattle. “Prisons are like that. Never stopped me before.” No dice this time, though. He peered into the next cell, but whoever he was, the guy was in deep shadow. John could just about see an outline of his knees, that was all. “How long you been down here?”

Chains clanked, as the other man moved his legs slightly. “Many years.”

“How many is many – 5, 10?” _Come on, buddy. Work with me here_.

“It no longer matters.” Oh, wonderful. This guy barely had the energy to talk at all. John, on the other hand, was practically vibrating out of his skin, his anger fizzing along his nerves and curdling his stomach. Much of the anger was at himself. Because, really? _Again??_

“That many, huh? What did you do to get here?”

“I merely allowed myself to be captured alive.”

“Same here.” He paced for a moment, still full of anger and adrenaline, but fighting it, trying to relax – he had to stay loose if he was gonna be effective in a fight. “Look, I got people looking for me. When they find me, maybe we can both--” Huh. That sounded like a door opening, somewhere down the hall. Moments later, three soldiers marched up to John's cell. One rabbity little guy, one regular, and one extra-large. The littlest guy unlocked the cell door and slid it open. John smirked at them. He could work with this...

“Move.” How about that, folks, extra-large guy could speak. Goody for him. Give him a big hand.

“Where we movin' to?” The goon glared, fingering his weapon. John cocked his head and shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “'Cause you know, I kinda like it here.” Extra-large guy leveled what looked like a shotgun, only with 3 barrels, the extra-large fun size, and pulled the trigger. Rock exploded behind John's right shoulder, peppering his neck and cheek with rock chips and practically deafening his right ear. “ _Ow!_ ”

“Commander Kolya insists.” Extra-large guy, again. Who apparently wanted him dead in the worst possible way, judging by the scowl he was sporting.

John spread his arms and smirked. “Oh, he _insists_. Well, why didn't ya just say so?” He ambled out of the cell, turned – and struck, hooking extra-large guy's foot with his own, knocking him down, and grabbing for the shotgun. Which did not come loose, dammit... _Aw, crap!_

Tazed again. His vision whited out, every muscle he owned locked rigid, and he hit the concrete on the point of his left shoulder – the one Carson had fixed for him the previous winter. Didn't feel like it was broken, but it hurt plenty. Shit, fuck – John _hated_ fuckin' Tazers.

The next couple of minutes were kind of blurred, as they picked him up and towed him down the hall, one under each of his shoulders while his feet just dragged along the ground. He'd bitten his cheek when the Tazer hit him this time, and when he spat the blood out, the littlest guy smacked him upside the head. Great. _Compensating for something, dude?_ But he didn't say that, either. Things were looking bad enough already, even by his own admittedly rather warped standards.

Next thing he knew, the littlest guy was having entirely too much fun shackling him to a solid wooden chair that was already conveniently bolted to the floor. Great. Because yeah, _that_ never turned out badly. He slouched as low as he could in the chair, and stuck his feet out where the soldier was about to walk. The resulting stumble earned him another smack upside the head, but it was worth it to see the guy's face turn red when Kolya walked into the room just as he stumbled. Kolya flicked an impatient thumb towards John, and another soldier hurriedly bent down and bound his feet to the chairlegs.

John smirked at the little guy. “Hey, that was graceful.” The little guy shot him a sulphurous glare. 

So much for trying to stay silent. Screw that. If he couldn't punch these bastards, he'd have to count coup on them some other way. Besides, this was more fun.

Yeah, he was going to go with fun. Considering the alternatives... “Hey, Kolya – you must have really missed me, to go to all this trouble.” 

Kolya gave him an ironic little half bow. “No-one else would have sufficed. Well, I could have taken McKay – but I would have tired of his whining rapidly. No, it's best this way, I think. You should also understand, Colonel Sheppard, that this is not personal. As soon as my demands are met, you will be set free.” _Yeah, **sure** I will. I believe you_.

John turned his head to peer upwards, making eye contact, though it was at kind of an awkward angle. “You know, they'll never trade for me. We don't negotiate with blackmailers or kidnappers. What do you want, anyway?” He squinted. Unlike the rest of this dump, the lights in this room were painfully bright after the gloom of his cell. When Kolya blocked the light by standing in front of it, he was just a silhouette for a moment. Unfortunately, he turned and walked back, got right up in John's face.

He flinched, and Kolya gave him a totally creeptastic scowl. “It is not a matter of what I want, but of whom.” John just shrugged. Didn't really matter what or who. SOP was very clear about ransom demands. John knew; he'd written that, and most of Atlantis' other standing orders, himself.

He'd had no choice. The Wraith had sucked Sumner dry before he'd had a chance to do any of it.

“Huh. The fun just never ends with you guys, does it?” John slouched, the best he could within his bindings, feigning nonchalance, aiming to annoy Kolya as much as possible. Which was actually quite a lot, as John had practiced this exact same routine to perfection on his father whenever they had a fight – which happened a _lot_ – over John's friends, his sexuality, the way he dressed, the way he drove, or the fact that basically, he didn't give a shit _what_ his father wanted him to do with his life, not Harvard, not an MBA, not the cushy desk job. None of it. He'd known since he was a kid that he was born to fly, and that was all he'd ever wanted to do. His only real regret over joining the Air Force had been not seeing the look on his father's face when Dave gave him the news. So now, he smirked up at Kolya, slouched, sucked noisily on his teeth, and laid it on _thick_.

John firmly believed that “The Ransom of Red Chief” was a totally _awesome_ story. And if ever there was such a thing as Lawful Prey, surely Kolya fit the bill.

There was a loud rolling sound from the hallway, and two more soldiers came trudging in, pushing between them the oldest, clunkiest TV camera John had ever seen – like something out of one of the early Dr. Who or Twilight Zone episodes, only even older – into the room. Damn thing must weigh 500 pounds, if it weighed an ounce. Cheese-patrol RGB analog output, too, he would bet his vintage original Star Wars lunchbox on it. He'd seen heavy-duty diesel engine blocks smaller than that camera. 

Okay, so _that_ was faintly interesting. This must be the Genii version of “Hostage Tape of the Week,” that perennial Middle East crowd pleaser.

Huh. Come to think of it, that usually didn't go so well for the hostage in question...

Kolya nodded. One soldier grabbed John's head from behind, while a second one tied a cloth around his face. He could have opened his mouth and yelled, but he couldn't free himself from the cloth.

Oh, no. Nope. Not even. If they were gonna pull shit like that, be _damned_ if he was gonna oblige these bastards by screaming, or any of that crap. Because he knew what came next on the menu.

Same stupid shit, different damn day. Least he could do was make them work for it.

He head Kolya radio Atlantis, and he heard it when Elizabeth decided to answer. Then she demanded to speak to John directly, followed by Rodney demanding that John be allowed to speak to them. _Ah, Rodney's safe_. John's pulse slowed and his blood pressure mellowed out a notch. If Rodney was safe, he being the slowest of them, then his team was also safe. Neither Ronon nor Teyla would ever have left Rodney behind. Which meant they hadn't been captured when he was. 

That left him free to act.

He was ready. The moment the rag was removed, he shouted an order, forbidding them to trade _anything_ for him. His face was bound again almost instantly – but he'd gotten his message across.

Which almost made up for what happened next.

Almost. Until they brought a chained Wraith into the room.

John had been threatened with being fed on several times, since arriving in Pegasus, and had faced more than one Wraith queen and lived to tell the tale. Other than sore knees and a headache, none of them had actually harmed him all that much. This one was only an officer, not even a queen. And it was a pretty raggedy-ass excuse for an officer, at that, staggering, moving with the tremors of a very old man. Hard to say whether the soldiers on either side were restraining it, or carrying it.

Didn't matter. He couldn't allow it to matter.

John had been tortured before, too. More than once, in fact. He'd been mindfucked by Wraith queens and replicators alike. He was even interrogated with a Goa'uld ribbon device once, and boy, wasn't _that_ just 18 different kinds of fun. He'd been wounded, bug-bit, sick as a dog, had the crap beaten out of him... Hell, he'd been shot down on 3 different occasions before he even got posted to Atlantis. 

When the trembling feeding hand first struck his chest, he felt nothing at all for an instant. Not even the usual feeling of impact that he'd expected. For that single instant, it seemed like the universe itself kind of paused. He found himself holding his breath, and forced himself to inhale – at least, he tried. The moment the energy draw began, he felt every single cell of his body begin to scream, and his very breath froze in his throat.

He managed to keep his silence, but he damn near chewed through his lip to do it. In the end, it was only the silent snow leopard snarl in the back of his skull that let him hold on. Just barely. If Kolya hadn't made it stop feeding so fast, _nothing_ would have sufficed.

It took him a while to realize that his head was drooping forward now and his eyes were half-closed. He managed to lift his chin long enough to glare at Kolya, but after that, he was spent. They'd already hustled the Wraith out of the room while John was still trying to gather his strength. 

They didn't quite drag him back to the cell by the scruff of the neck. He managed to take an actual step. Sometimes. Three in a row, once.

Just the same, when they opened the door and tossed him into the cell again, he hit the ground hard and kept on sliding until he crashed into the wall. Same fucking shoulder, too. Long, pain-filled minutes passed before he could make himself get up and go to sit on the other side of the room, and he only managed it then out of pure damn cussedness.

* * * * * * *

Ronon broke. He couldn't watch any more of this. That prattling idiot Ladon just stood there while one of the best men Ronon had ever met paid the price for him, and Elizabeth did _nothing_. 

He shouted, a single Satedan curse, and then he ran, full speed, for the outermost edge of the city, for the road he and John liked to run along first thing in the morning, and sometimes last thing at night.

Sooner or later Teyla would come and find him, no matter where he'd laired up to sulk. Somehow, she always knew where he was. And when she did come, there'd be a plan, and he would fulfill his part of it gladly, nor ever count the cost. But for now, if he was not to kill that mincing Genii _politician_ , or to break his oath to Elizabeth, he needed to run. So he set his feet on the true path and his heart on the true way, and he ran like he was the wind itself.

Ronon Dex was a soldier. He had been a soldier for much of his life. He understood duty, and he understood obedience. He had held the line during the Great Culling, when so many others, both older and younger, broke and fled from battle.

But John Sheppard was _family_.

* * * * * * *

Rodney paced, thinking about Radek's DHD download patch. He thought better on his feet, always had. And this was an interesting problem. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was busily freaking out, but Rodney refused to devote actual time and energy to that. Not right now. There was a problem that he needed to solve, and John was depending on him to solve it. 

He'd wheedled his way out of the infirmary as soon as the stun blast wore off. There was no time for him to be sick or injured right now.

If it had been anyone but John at risk, Carson might not have let him out so soon. But this was Carson, and he saw a lot more than he ever spoke a word about. Rodney made a mental note to bump up the repair of the Ancient medical scanner to the first priority list, the one he took care of personally, and paced ever onward, occasionally stopping to scribble on the nearest whiteboard.

Behind him Radek continued to type, hunting down the last few bugs in his end of the program. He was confident that Rodney would solve this problem, of how best to order the harvested addresses, in this crazed excuse for a software system that apparently did not put dates or times on things at all. The Ancients might have been brilliant engineers at times, but in Radek's considered opinion, they had mostly been what Rodney described as “batshit crazy.”

This was what Rodney did, this was who he was. Radek would never admit it out loud – Rodney's ego was already large enough – but Rodney McKay was the smartest man he had ever met, in either galaxy, on any planet. And Radek himself was not a stupid man, as witness his surviving the tail end of the Cold War not only alive but basically in good health, minus a few of his teeth, a couple of fingernails, and half a meter of gut.

When Rodney came up with the answer, Radek was going to have his part ready. Because that was who Radek was, and that was what he did.

* * * * * * *

“They called you Sheppard.”

“Yeah. That's my name. Pleased to meetcha.” Fuck, this was like every case of flu and hangover John had ever had, all rolled up into one. His chest was still throbbing, and blood was trickling down his belly and soaking into his BDUs. When he glanced down, he could only see the bottom of the wound. The top part was hidden by his chin. He could sure feel it, though.

“You are in pain.” Huh. The guy next door didn't sound so fried now. Of course, John's perceptions might be a mite _off_ , all things considered. _Fuck me, that **hurts**_.

“Well, yeah. I just got fed on by a _Wraith_ , what do you think.”

“I would not know.”

“Well, hopefully, you'll never have to find out.” John huffed, gritting his teeth. “Didn't think anything could hurt that much. I tell you what, though. If Kolya's men hadn't pulled the damned thing off of me, I'd have been dust in a flak jacket.” Then a chill ran down his spine, as he realized– John labouriously pushed himself to his feet, and staggered across the room toward the other guy's cell. “Hey. Where did you hear them call me Sheppard?”

The scruffy, tousled head came forward into the light, revealing cat-yellow eyes in a newly-familiar face, damp-looking greenish skin, with a star tattoo around the left eye. “Just before I began to feed.”

An ice-cold jolt went skittering down John's spine and he gaped, frozen. He saw it now; the Wraith's face was definitely less lined, and the scruffy mane of hair was less dusty, less bedraggled. It made him wonder how just much older his own face looked now, how much of his own hair had gone grey or even white. The leopard snarl in the back of his head was getting louder all the time.

He stalked across the cell and pointedly sat down as far out of reach as he could get. It was kinda stupid, but somehow it made him feel a bit better.

* * * * * * *

The next time they came for him, John wasn't strong enough to fight them, even if they hadn't watching him like hawks. He thought about it anyway, but got smacked in the head by extra-large guy, and shoved forward, stumbling, and that was that. Before the soldiers showed up, he'd tried talking the Wraith into helping both of them to escape, but it hadn't taken the bait. He'd even pointed out how it wasn't really risking its life, since this kind of life wasn't worth preserving. All too soon, though, he was shackled into that chair again. The rest of it was basically the same as the first couple of times, though it was almost a pleasant surprise when the Wraith stopped short of killing him as Kolya had ordered it to. 

He had no idea what it was thinking, or even if it thought of itself as “it,” or “he.” Or if it cared...

His mind was rambling, his muscles trembling. His mouth was still full of the taste of blood. The leopard was pacing angrily inside him, pushing to get out. His claws wanted Wraith flesh to tear. His teeth ached with his desire to taste Kolya's lifeblood. No joy, though. Too damned soon, he was back in the cell once again, and they still hadn't escaped.

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling absolutely wasted. The skin of his hands was papery and wrinkled, with prominent liver spots. Even the hair on his arms was grey, now. “You stopped.”

“Yes...”

“Why?” 

“Because, the longer I feed, the weaker you become, and we will need what strength you have left, to escape.” It cocked its head, looking at him curiously.

John slapped himself in the forehead and groaned. Fucking typical. _Now_ it wanted to escape. It figured. “Good plan! Woulda been better if you figured it out a little bit _sooner_ , you know?”

The wraith shrugged. “It is what we have, so we will have to make it work. Now, I have a question for you – what _are_ you? You taste different, Sheppard. Not just your strength, though you are strong, perhaps the strongest I have fed upon – and I am old enough to remember the Alterans personally. But this is something new to me. Tell me of this, and I shall attempt to remember the passageways we will need to use.”

Well, fuck-a-doodle-doo. Things were just getting better and better – the damned Wraith had noticed John's Other Side. _Now_ what the hell should he do?


	6. Bad Moon Rising

Rodney paced his lab, scowling ferociously. He'd really thought he'd solved it this last time, but it _still_ wouldn't give him the Gate addresses in the order they'd been dialed. They could grab 50 or so at a time from the DHD's memory, yes – but only randomly. Grab the 50 which came first or last? Not so much.

Not yet, anyway.

He'd sent everyone but Radek off to eat, then handed Radek his latest copy of the coding that they were pulling apart yet again. Left in peace, the two of them _would_ solve this, if they had to stay awake for three days straight. Not even like it would be the first time. 

Deliberately left unspoken was the worry that maybe John didn't have that kind of time. 

Behind him, Radek cleared his throat. “I have idea. We should bring Dr. Kusanagi in, also. She is very good hacker, not so? Perhaps she will see what we are missing.”

“Huh. Actually, that's a pretty good idea.” He reached up to tap his earpiece. “Dr. Kusanagi, are you hearing this? Okay. Come to Lab 5; I've got something I want you to look at for me.” Then he looked over at Radek again. “Right. She's on her way.”

Radek nodded, and pushed his glasses back up his nose again. How they managed not to fall off, Rodney couldn't even guess, but he'd never seen them hit the floor no matter how wired and crazy the two of them got, or how many days they'd gone without sleep. Rodney's grand-mère, a terrifying behemoth of a woman, had been like that with her ever-present cigarette. She'd wandered around her house all day long, with never less than an inch of ashes hanging off the damned thing, and never once had he ever seen her spill it, no matter how much something startled her or pissed her off.

Something smacked into his chest and landed on the desk. Huh, a double-chocolate Power Bar! “Where'd you get this? I thought these were all gone.” He was already shredding the wrapping, starved for food but unwilling to stop working long enough to get some. Somewhere out there John was a prisoner, and he was depending on Rodney and Radek to find him and bring him home.

“Most are gone, yes.” Radek shrugged. “You are hungry. So, eat.” He'd known the Power Bars would come in useful somewhere along the way. Radek ran the greater part of Atlantis' black market. He knew where _everything_ was, and could almost always get it for you – for a reasonable price. A man had to make a living. He left most of his wages back on Earth, so therefore, he found a bit of supplemental income where he could. Running the best still in the city never hurt, either. Simple engineering, learned at his grandfather's knee...

Rodney was an astrophysicist with a second doctorate in engineering. Radek was an electrical engineer with a second doctorate in high-energy physics. It worked.

* * * * * * *

Teyla and Ronon were busy too, packing Jumper One, getting it ready. McKay would fly it, but he was still busy right now. Across the Jumper Bay, Stackhouse's team were prepping their own Jumper. Next to them, AR6 was doing likewise with theirs. No-one knew where they'd be going yet, but all were determined to take whatever would fit, including extra Marines. Most especially, lots of pyrotechnics and weaponry, along with plenty of extra ammo. The Daedalus had brought plenty of munitions on the latest supply run – including more rounds for Cadman's beloved rocket launcher, which she was now stowing in the back of Jumper One. Cadman was bad-ass, even Ronon thought so. The bad guys they met here in Pegasus had no way of knowing the meaning of her tats, and tended to take the small, blonde soldier more lightly than they should. She got tons of entertainment out of watching previously stuck-up wannabee warlords turn pale and flee when she let Agni out to play and the two of them lit some shit on fire. Must not be anyone in the Pegasus galaxy who followed the tradition that she'd been raised in. Laura had been born human, but shed been bonded at birth to a Fire elemental, so the two of them would mature together into a single, powerful, sapient weapon, with two separate, complementary minds. It was one of her greatest pleasures to school such assholes on their profound ignorance. 

She didn't really _need_ the rocket launcher – but it was definitely her favourite toy. It wasn't their only launcher anymore. Didn't matter. This one was _hers_.

She'd helped Rodney do his first training with munitions, once he transformed, not to mention showing him how to safely handle his new inner Fire. He'd laughed when she'd told him anyone with a temper as bad as his _had_ to be a Fire worker, it was in the Shifter's rule book. She and her team were riding in Jumper One today, along with the other two members of AR1, and Rodney wouldn't have had it any other way. Anybody who could blow that much shit up into that many tiny pieces with a single strike would come in very handy on this mission. Because they weren't gonna leave without John, it was just that simple. You don't leave people behind, no matter what. Not ever.

Carson was running back and forth between all three of the Jumpers that were currently being prepped, restocking medical supplies and double-checking equipment. It was all supposedly checked on a routine basis, but Carson wasn't in the mood to take any chances. True, he could have ordered this done, easily enough – he had that right – but instead, he'd left Dr. Biro in charge of the infirmary tonight, so he could see to this himself. If he could get Elizabeth to agree, he intended to ride along in Jumper One. For each of the other Jumpers, he had already assigned a medic. If Elizabeth wouldn't let him go with John's team personally, he planned to send Captain Rayburn in his stead. One of the second wave recruits, Kenny had been a Marine combat medic for years before going back to school and getting his M.D. Still, Carson would rather go himself, if he could. He'd looked after Colonel Sheppard since the expedition first arrived on Atlantis, nearly three years ago. He wasn't sure exactly what he could do to offset the effects of being fed on by a Wraith, but he was going to bring everything he even thought _might_ be useful.

The thought of Sheppard as he'd seen him last, hair mostly grey, face lined with newly-inflicted age, barely able to lift his head, filled Carson with a fiery rage, the kind he usually suppressed, that had gotten him into trouble a few times over the years.

He greatly preferred not to carry a gun, even on postings where it was recommended – but that never stopped a man from owning a few blades, now, did it. Not to mention a loaded hypo, which Carson was a fair shot with, pun intended, _thank_ you. And John Sheppard had a habit of getting himself seriously injured when he was far away from help. Ending up half-eaten by a bloody Wraith, of all things! So this time, Carson intended to be there himself.

* * * * * * *

 _Huh. Never thought about if we'd taste the same as regular humans_. How best to explain it? John sat quietly for a couple of minutes, just breathing. He'd been feeling pretty wasted before this latest feeding. Now? He felt as old as his hands now looked. His vision was not as sharp as it had been. Even breathing was hard work. In the back of his head, the leopard snarl was almost constant, the leopard stepping in where the human was beginning to falter. His hearing was a lot sharper, while colours seemed more dull. The fanged gash in the Wraith's feeding hand had looked more grey than red, the last time he'd seen it. His sense of smell was better too – though that wasn't such an advantage in this particular shithole. John was willing to bet his eyes were more of a blue-green than usual, as well. Fully shifted, he knew, they were Siamese-cat blue. 

For some reason, the fur was calling extra loud this evening. Or morning. Whatever. 

John had totally lost track. Down here in this hole, it all looked the same. No way to tell.

His mom's eyes had been blue. His brother Dave had blue eyes. John, now, he had always taken after his father, tall and thin with black hair and green eyes.

But his mom had been the Shifter. Like John. His dad was only a carrier. Like Dave. 

_Aw, man, I'm rambling again. Brain fried. Totally toasty roasted_. He snorted, amused in spite of himself . Rodney would so be hassling him right now, going on about stoned-out flyboys getting high on the enzyme... He wanted to see Rodney again so bad it hurt. Even old and fried like this, he wanted it. For whatever amount of time he had left, anyway. He shook his head, wincing when it made him dizzy. _Focus, John_.

“I taste different, huh? So, I'm not just regular old boring Purina Wraith Chow. Cool. Good to know! But to quote you, I wouldn't know.” He scowled, trying to think clearly despite the fatigue and the ever-increasing static in his brain. “I think I do know what the reason is, though. See, some of us humans are a little um, more, we have... something extra. You really don't know this?”

Dry little chuckle. “No. I do not. I have not tasted a human like you before.”

“Huh. Well how about that. Learn somethin' new every day.” He shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position. Might as well not have bothered. Floor was still concrete, and his ass was still too bony. Dammit. “Okay. See, here's the thing. Some of us human types can change our shapes. It's something we're born with, those of us who can do it. We can be human, _or_ animal. We call it our Other Side, or else just being a shifter. Mine's a snow leopard – kind of a big cat. Huh. Just occurred to me – do they even _have_ cats in the Pegasus galaxy?”

The Wraith nodded. “I have seen this in your mind. There are similar animals here, though they do not look like the one in your mind.”

“That was probably my leopard. For some reason he's _real_ loud in my head right now. I've met a shifter from one of the culled worlds here who turns into what my people would call a bear, minus a couple of cosmetic details. There's all different kinds of shifters, and we kind of have two natures at once.” For a moment, he pondered the wisdom of telling the Wraith all this, but then again, what else did he have to trade, except more years that he'd rather not lose? Worth this much, surely, to get the fuck outta here. The shape he was in right now, putting up any kind of fight was going to be all about age and treachery overcoming youth and skill.

John could do that. He had to. He was _not_ going to die in this stinking concrete hole. No fucking way.

The Wraith was gazing at him intently, yellow cat-eyes now wide and interested. “So what do they do, these two natures? What happens when you shift?”

“Heh. I'm about halfway there right now, it feels like. I don't really know exactly what happens, although I've got a friend who could probably tell you. I just know, one moment I'm on two feet, the next, I'm on four. If I don't strip it off first, everything I'm wearing just vanishes. Dunno where my kit goes when I put on the fur. It comes back when the skin comes back. My friend calls it 'Hammer space.' Damned if I know _what_ he means by that. All I know is, I get tired faster if I shift that way.”

The Wraith looked him in the eye and squared its shoulders. “This is most interesting, John Sheppard. It is not often, down the long years, that I find something truly new to me. In return, I will say this: I have reviewed my memories of this place, and yes, we can escape, with two of us to fight. We may not succeed – but our deaths are less certain this way. The next time this cell is unlocked –”

“We kick some Genii ass.” John could feel himself grimacing, the smile that usually made cops reach for their sidearms, and civilians turn and walk away. He was showing his teeth – but in no way could that expression truly be called a smile.

“Indeed.” The Wraith watched him like John was the most interesting thing it had seen in years. With his luck, that might even be true. A muffled snort of amusement escaped him, which just made the Wraith watch him more closely. He rolled his eyes at that, but didn't reply.

After that, both of them fell silent. John was both exhausted and in pain, and at the same time, intensely curious. This one had been alive since the _Alterans_ were still here? 

Damn... As old and fried as he felt right now, it was nothing in comparison to _that_.

* * * * * * *

Miko frowned as she bent closer to the screen. This program, the way it worked – the Ancients were brilliant engineers, yes – but not good programmers. It had never occurred to her before that _anything_ might make her feel nostalgic toward Microsoft, but...

Miko Kusanagi had built her first computer at the age of 10. By today's standards, unforgivably slow and limited, but at the time, even her brother Mutta had been impressed. Linux, of course, personally debugged, customized, and compiled. Had she been a thief, she could have been obscenely wealthy by now. To this day, Miko still had back doors into almost half the banks on Earth, and none of them had the slightest idea that she'd ever been there. She had only done it to help Daniel Jackson, when he and his team had been caught in a bad situation. She owed Daniel. He had been immeasurably helpful to her once, when she had needed it desperately. 

Like her comrades here, Daniel was family. As was Colonel Sheppard. Not to mention that Miko came from an old, old line. She honoured her ancestors, and strove to attain their ideals.

But _this_ system... The Ancients had built many wonderful things. Miko considered it an honour and a privilege to be posted to Atlantis. She had learned much out here, and had grown more certain of herself and her chosen life. But at the moment she found herself consumed by the wish to confront the designers of this system and have a few choice words about their coding practices. She sighed, and pushed it to the back of her mind. There was work to be done, and little time in which to do it.

* * * * * * *

John was sprawled on the floor asleep, too fucked up to do anything else, the next time the soldiers came for him. They didn't even bother trying to rouse him this time, just lifted him up and started to march down the hall, with him dangling between them. And hey, extra-large guy hadn't come along this time. Cool.

Even messed up like this, he was a very light sleeper. He'd learned that the hard way, years ago, long before arriving in Pegasus. John let them get two steps past the door of the cell, before throwing almost everything he had left into a backward shove, smashing both their heads against the bars. Just down the hall, the Wraith was making short work of its own pair of soldiers. John took out some of his frustration and rage by beating the crap out of the two younger men. “See,” he smirked in between punches and kicks, “you're just running for your dinner. I'm running for my life.” Somewhere in the background he heard shots, then the growling, roaring sound the Wraith made when it was feeding. He dropped the second of his own two soldiers by breaking the man's neck and turned, in time to throw the now-dead soldier's belt knife at the soldier who was fixing to put some more rounds into the Wraith.

It flew true. That was a nice little knife. John appropriated the sheath, retrieved it, then turned to searching the others for weapons. He left the shotgun behind – he didn't aim on letting anyone get close enough to make it useful – but made sure to snag several pistols and the much-more-to-his-taste rifle one of the dead men had carried. 

It wasn't his primary focus, never had been. But John had been through the Special Forces sniper course, back in the day. Anyone with vision as sharp as his was offered it. Never know when you might need a sniper, on what mission, in which terrain. He'd done his share of those missions, in between the flying that was all he'd ever _really_ wanted to do.

About then, the Wraith finished wolfing its lunch and turned to face him, still snarling. Ordinarily, John might have had qualms about sacrificing even these assholes to a Wraith. But these were Kolya's goons, which meant they'd had a hand in enslaving or killing people John had planted, weeded, and harvested with, people who had fed Atlantis during hard times, when they'd nothing to gain and everything to lose. So in this particular case, not so much with the qualms, really. He looked up from his looting, caught the Wraith with a very feral carnivorous sort of grin on its face. They glared suspiciously at one another for a moment, then John tossed it the keys he'd just pilfered – odds seemed good they'd open those chains – then a couple of the clunky Genii pistols. He kept the other one, and the rifle, for himself. And the knife, of course. The Wraith had claws and teeth, after all. John wanted a little equalizer, just in case...

* * * * * * *

“So you're telling me, you _still_ don't know where they took him?” Rodney paced up and down the briefing room, far too angry and overcaffeinated to sit still. “Then why are we still sitting here, when I could be in the lab getting something _useful_ done?” He felt like he was about to go jittering right out of his skin, truth be told. He wasn't at all sure Radim was even trustworthy to begin with. He, at least, had not forgotten how they'd first met.

It had been Radim that John knocked out so he could raise the shield and fry most of Kolya's inbound strike force. Fifty-five Genii soldiers dead, splattered against the Gate shield. Even after all this time, John still got this haunted look on his face, when anyone reminded him of that night. Radim harboured no _visible_ grudge – but Rodney had a dark and suspicious mind, and he trusted the man about as far as he could pick him up and throw him. Elizabeth could proclaim the Genii to be valued allies till the cows came home, but for himself, Rodney made damn sure none of them ever got behind him.

Kolya thought John was just another murderous thug like himself. Rodney knew better. Not because John had ever talked about it, no. Slinky, ridiculously hot fighter pilots don't talk about their feelings. Ever. Didn't matter. _Hello, genius here, have we met?_ John didn't have to say it. Rodney knew. He'd seen John wake up gasping from nightmares, heard him toss and turn and moan in his sleep when they camped out offworld overnight. His own version of those nightmares wore Gaul's face, or Abrams'. Sometimes Grodin's face. Sometimes Dumais, or the others who had died, screaming, when the nanite virus got loose. 

No, Rodney had plenty of ghosts of his own, and he didn't talk about _his_ , either. Just, once in a while, he'd find John prowling late at night, when he himself was prowling. They'd raise a sardonic eyebrow back and forth, then go get their RC cars and have an epic race on the levels down below, where no-one ever seemed to go when it was late at night. And when they did happen to run across a couple of Marines on perimeter patrol, they just grinned and kept moving. The Marines understood.

It worked. You do what you have to do. Especially in a galaxy full of fucking _space vampires_ that look on you as the next best thing to prime rib.

All right. Enough. Rodney stopped pacing and glared at Radim. “Elizabeth. Do you need me right this moment?” She shook her head. “Good. Then I'm going back to my lab, so I can get some actual _work_ done. Give me a call if you get anywhere. We'll do likewise.” Finally. The doors swished open at his command just before he reached them, then swished shut again behind him. And honestly? That was just _never_ going to get old. 

* * * * * * *

Huh. _That_ was odd. Rodney redid the search. Yep, still the same.

“Hey, this is kind of weird. Kolya's late on his call back. It's been the two hours he threatened us with and then some. He should have called 15 minutes ago.”

Both Radek and Miko looked up at that. “You are certain, yes?”

Rodney just huffed. “Yes, I'm certain. I checked twice. Control hasn't heard from him since the last transmission. Of course, we haven't heard from Radim yet, either. I still can't believe Elizabeth had him here and just let him go back. I mean, honestly, it's ridiculous.” Neither of the others replied, and with a few more half-hearted grumbles, Rodney went back to work. Chuck would let him know the next time Kolya dialed in. He'd promised.

All of them got lost in the code again. All three felt that time was running out.

Perhaps another 20 minutes went by, before Miko sat up straight, pushed her chair away from her desk, stood up, and stretched. “Radek-san, Rodney-san – I think I might have found something here. Will you come and look?”

“Oh hell yes!” Rodney practically bounced across the lab. Radek moved at a more sedate pace. Not that much slower, though. Pretty soon they were all leaning over Miko's desk as she hit a last couple of keys, then told it to go ahead and compile.

After watching it run for a couple of minutes, Rodney leaned back and whistled in grudging admiration. “That is sneaky! I thoroughly approve.”

“Ah, this is very good!” Radek was smiling now. “Rodney – where is the tablet you downloaded those addresses to? And are we still watching the Kwenaian Gate?”

“Yes, we are. Elizabeth approved the manpower, which she could have refused to do. So if this really does work, we can go download as much as that DHD will give us. And then we'll _get_ the bastards.”

* * * * * * *

“Slow down, and don't all of you talk at once! Now, what is this, and how does it work?” Elizabeth's eyes were shadowed, her face lined with exhaustion. None of them had rested much since Sheppard was snatched right under their noses.

Rodney bounced up out of his chair, unable to sit still. “It's ingenious! Miko, here, figured out that the Gate exchanged astrography coordinates with the rest of the Gate system, every time someone dials in or out of it. They all do. And if you measure very carefully, and you correlate pretty much everything every time, you can figure out the order the dialings occurred in. So we don't _have_ to search a couple of hundred worlds. We really only have to search 4 or 5, the most recent ones. And on this Gate, the fourth most recent dialout was two days ago, from the Kwenaian homeworld to a system on the other side of the Pegasus galaxy from us. Which makes the changes large enough to measure very accurately, even though they're still very small. It's all about the parallax. Well, the parallax, and the fact that the Gate network runs through subspace. No lightspeed lag. And all the subsequent dialouts have been ours.” He turned and grinned at Miko. “It's actually quite impressive, Dr. Kusanagi.” He put his hands together and bowed. “ _Domo arigato_ , Kusanagi-san. You might just have saved John's life today. Believe me, if this pans out, I won't forget it.”

Elizabeth was impressed. Miko was small, and she was very quiet. She didn't cause problems that Elizabeth had to fix. But permitted to work in peace, she was nothing short of brilliant.

Bless George Hammond, for okaying this expedition before his death. He hadn't lived to see the expedition depart from Earth, but it was his orders that had allowed Elizabeth to cherry-pick the best she could get her hands on.

Good. Now maybe she _wouldn't_ have to call General O'Neill and tell him they'd lost John Sheppard.


	7. Radioactive...

With a protesting creak, the iron hatch cover flapped open, and John labouriously climbed up and out of the access shaft. Damn good thing the ladder wasn't any longer; he was just about out of gas, and they had no time to rest, yet.

The Wraith had taken several more bullets on their way out, although none of the soldiers who actually met them got away to tell the tale. The Wraith ate three or four, and John killed at least that many and left the rest seriously fucked up.

No contest, really. These guys acted like conscripts, rather than volunteers. Given the choice, he probably wouldn't have killed anyone who didn't make it necessary, but he didn't have time or strength to spare them. Easier, and quicker, to snap a neck than knock a guy out. Safer, too. Dead men don't raise the alarm until they're found. Not to mention, ignorant fighters could actually be more dangerous at hand-to-hand, flailing around blindly at random the way they did. 

The Wraith climbed out right behind him. John closed the hatch again. He couldn't lock it from outside, but a quick glance upwards would at least make it look as if the hatch was still secure. Worth a try, and it might even buy them a few more minutes. He figured the alarm would be raised any minute now – if Kolya was sticking to that 3-hour feeding cycle, it was almost time for another Hostage of the Week broadcast.

“Okay, which way is the Gate from here?” He took a deep breath, savouring the scent of autumn woods, particularly refreshing after the musty funk of Kolya's underground warren.

The Wraith was perched on the edge of the hatchway, holding its middle, where the bullet holes still hadn't healed yet. “It is some way from here. I do not know how far I can go, John Sheppard.”

“You gonna make it?” John scowled. He needed the damned thing alive, that was the problem.

It shrugged, “If I feed, yes. Otherwise, I do not know.” It almost looked as if it were holding its guts in. On a human, those would already have been mortal wounds. Wraith were _tough_ sons-of-bitches.

John snorted. “Well, don't look at _me!_ ” In the back of his head, leopard snarl agreed.

The Wraith gave a dry little chuckle, looking up at the sky. “Ahh... It is good to be outside again. It has been a long time.”

“We should get going.” He couldn't handle standing still any longer. He had the heebie-jeebies, the creepy crawlers, ants in his pants. Didn't matter what name you put to it, they all felt the same.

“Very well.” It got to its feet, lurching, nearly falling over. “I believe we must go this way.” Man, the Wraith looked about as wasted as John was feeling. They made one hell of a pair.

“Let's go.” John held up the radio he'd pilfered on their way out. “We'll know when they raise the alarm.” The Wraith took the lead, and John followed it. _Do-it-yourself rescue. Huh. Works for me_.

* * * * * * *

“I was blindfolded all the way from the Gate to the bunker, but even I know it wasn't _this_ far!” John was leaning against a tree, panting. Beside him, the Wraith stood hunched over, still holding its side. Black Wraith blood had oozed down its leg, and it was still bleeding, slowly but steadily. “I bet you have no idea where the Gate was, do you?”

“It was many years ago.”

John snarled in frustration. “Way to go, John! Trust a _Wraith!_ ” He was interrupted by the radio he had nearly forgotten he was holding.

Static crackled. “We've reached the surface. No sign of them, Commander.”

Kolya's voice, more static. “Send an additional ten men to guard the Gate. The rest of you, keep searching. Kill the Wraith on sight, but I want Sheppard alive.” His voice was all scratchy and broken, scarcely recognizable through the static crackles and pops. Man, the Genii radios were really craptastic. Like a lot of Genii kit, come to think of it.

John had to laugh. “How about that. Well, we just learned two things. First, he likes me better than he likes you.” The Wraith actually laughed at that. “Second, they're so stupid, they actually think we know where we're going!” Both of them laughed again. They were so burnt it was making them punchy. The third time in as many minutes that he stumbled and nearly did a faceplant, John rebelled Fuck this shit. He was going to sit down for a moment, searchers or no damned searchers. His dogs were barking, and the Wraith looked, if anything, worse off than John felt.

The Wraith sat itself down too, on a drift of dead leaves. Then it lay back and put its arms under its head. “Ah, well. It was worthwhile, even if only to see the stars again. It has been a pleasure escaping with you, John Sheppard.”

“Same back atcha. I have to agree. _Totally_ worth it, to get away from that stinking fucked-up hole in the ground.” He looked over at the Wraith. It seemed to have stopped actively bleeding, but it had been moving pretty slowly just before they stopped. “You feeling any better?” His plan, such as it was, kind of needed the Wraith. Dammit.

“I do not think so. You should go on without me, Sheppard. You can move faster alone than you can with me.” It didn't even sound like it cared either way, which creeped him out all over again.

John shook his head. “Already told ya, not gonna happen. With all those guys guarding the Gate, we have a much better chance to retake it if we get 'em in a crossfire. Until we get out of here, we need one another. Besides, my people don't leave anyone behind. Like I said, they're coming for me.”

“You still believe that?” Its voice was fading, the longer it spoke. It looked almost as bad as it had before that first feeding, when the Genii soldiers had been forced to half-carry it.

“Absolutely.” John knew his team, and Elizabeth. He knew they wouldn't give up on him that easily.

“You are more like Wraith than you know.” It had gotten up on one elbow to say that.

He scowled. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that.”

It bared its teeth in something John was pretty sure wasn't a smile. “There is much about Wraith that you do not know, Sheppard. But my wound is deep. If I do not feed soon, I will die.”

“Buck up. We have a deal, remember? We both go home alive.” John got to his feet, with no small amount of effort. He'd already stiffened up unpleasantly, just during that one brief pause.

It cocked its head, as if curious. “And if we should happen to meet again, in the future, what then?”

“If we meet again, all bets are off.” John smirked. The Wraith just nodded silently. “Tell you what, though. We need to rest, anyway – why don't you get some sleep. I'll take the first watch.” As sore as he now felt, sleep would be a long time coming, so he might as well do something useful. Maybe the Wraith would feel stronger when it woke up. They _did_ seem to be pretty damned hard to kill.

“Very well. I shall hope, then, that we do not meet again after this.” It closed its eyes, and just like that, fell asleep. John found a sufficiently uncomfortable tree to lean against, to keep himself awake, and settled down to keep watch.

The Wraith was right about one thing, though. It was fucking _great_ to see the stars again. For a while there, he hadn't figured he'd be living long enough to ever say that again.

* * * * * * *

Rodney was at Jumper One's controls, just about to dial the Gate, when it activated. He heard Elizabeth receive the call, and got the Gate address Radim was sending relayed from Ops. Heh. How about that, Miko was right. The address matched the one they had already found by using Miko's algorithm. “Nice of them to join the party,” he muttered, waiting for the wormhole to disengage. The moment it did, he nodded and Teyla dialed the Gate. Elizabeth had already given them the go-ahead. 

For once, Rodney was too distracted to worry about his piloting, and Ronon found it funny as hell that Sheppard had been right, all Rodney needed to do to fly a straight line was loosen up a bit on the controls. He didn't say it, though. For one thing, the route from the Jumper bay to the Gate room was fairly narrow; there really wasn't room for Rodney's usual meandering course. And right now, Ronon had other things to think about.

The newly-arrived quartermaster had a thing for him. He could always tell. The guy had just handed him two entire bandoliers full of all different kinds of grenades when he dropped by the main armoury to gear up. And yeah, Ronon knew he'd be handing some of those to Rodney to light off, but still. He'd be back home again pretty soon, and with any luck, well... Lt. Eggleston was _hot_. 

A guy had needs, after all. As the Lanteans liked to say, he would totally hit that.

In the back compartment, Cadman's team and Dr. Rayburn met one another's eyes and nodded. All of them were armed to the teeth, even the doctor, and they'd brought more weapons and Marines on top of that. Plus Kenny's personally hand-assembled, battle-tested, SGC combat medic kit. 

No SGC medic went ever through the Gate unarmed any more. The people they fought against spared no kindness for medics, just killed them right along with their fellows. Kenny had a black belt in tae kwon do, but he carried an P90 and an M9 pistol anyway. 

None of them had seen the footage Kolya had broadcast – but they'd all talked to people who had. So not only were they going to rescue the colonel today, it was another fucking bug hunt, to boot. Oo-rah!

* * * * * * *

John blinked, feeling muzzy and confused. His eyes were nearly gummed shut, and he felt like he'd lost the world's worst bar fight the night before. For a moment, he didn't know what had awakened him, much less where the hell he was. It was light, but obviously very early in the morning. He could just barely hear birdsong starting. Then his sight focused enough to show him the face of the Wraith not two feet away from his own, and he nearly jumped a mile in the air. Except for, you know, being too cool for that. Not to mention, too fucking _old_. He winced. _Ow_.

The Wraith leaned closer. “They are coming. Listen...” John did, and heard leaves crackling underfoot, and twigs and branches breaking. His hearing wasn't what it had been, but then, the approaching men weren't trying to be quiet. Arrogant Genii bastards.

He opened his mouth to speak – and froze, as the feeding hand slammed into his chest again. Inside his skull John raged and snarled furiously, paws straining, struggling to move. But his body was stone. He couldn't even squall his rage; no air was moving in his throat. He could just barely see one of his hands out of the corner of his eye. While he watched in horror, that hand grew knobbly and veined, more and more wrinkled and scrawny, knuckles grotesquely swollen and deformed.

When it finally pulled its hand away, he fell flat on his back, staring up at the sky through the empty twigs of the trees. The Wraith spun away and was gone.

It took him a minute or two to move. It was all he could do to breathe, at first. The pain was greater than anything he'd ever felt besides the feeding process itself. Even the damned enzyme wasn't helping much any more, and he needed to move, now. _Let me in_. What? _Let go. Let me in_. Snow leopard, snarling in the back of John's skull.

Oh... yeah, okay, he could do that. He blinked, and thought of letting go, dropping the reins. And a bit more strength flowed throughout his body, as his shape began to change.

He didn't have enough strength left to make the whole shift, but he had enough for claws and teeth, cat hearing, and as much extra strength as his leopard could give him. Then he lurched forward clumsily for a couple of steps, before his body recalibrated itself. He looked down at wide strong hand-paws with wicked sharp claws, and snarled to himself in satisfaction. _Might be down, but I'm not out. Not even close_.

He padded nearly silently between the trees until he found the Wraith, fighting half a dozen of Kolya's men. John walked up just in time to see extra-large guy scream, shrivel, and kick the bucket. Okay, score one for the Wraith, that sonofabitch had definitely been on John's Kill list. The fact that he was more or less able to get up and walk was kind of amazing, really. 

And he noticed pretty quickly that the Wraith was doing its share of damage; it must have healed enough, on what it took from him, to respond before they were caught. He decided to help kill the soldiers first, then worry about the rest of it afterwards.

With two of them, it didn't take long. But John took a bullet in the arm towards the end of the fight, and the last of his leopard's borrowed strength left him as he fell. He lay on his back in the grass, gazing up at pale blue early morning sky. _Well, at least I made it long enough to see daylight again_.

The Wraith crouched down and looked at him, tilting its head, the yellow cat eyes wide and interested.

John curled his lip and snarled, “ _Finish it_.” He licked his lips, scowling balefully. He wanted nothing more than to rend and tear, with claws and fangs – and he had nothing left. Nada. Not even fumes.

The Wraith shook its head, an odd expression on its face that was almost a smile, yet not. “As I told you before, John Sheppard, there are many things about Wraith that you do not know.” The hand smacked into his chest again, and his body arched as the energy draw began...

* * * * * * *

Ronon held up a fist, halting their party. All of them froze, while they listened.

A strangled half-snarl echoed through the trees. Ronon ran, and the rest ran with him. Rodney kept one eye on his detector. Where first there had been eight life signs, now there were only two. One of which was John. _I could have sworn that was John I heard just now_.

As they burst into a small clearing, Ronon surged ahead, grabbed the shoulder of the bent-over Wraith, and threw it to the ground behind him. He pulled out his blaster, only to hear Sheppard's voice, sounding clear and strong. “ _Wait!!_ Wait. Don't shoot. We made a deal. It helped me escape.” 

Ronon turned and gaped. Because there stood John Sheppard, hair once more solid black, face as youthful as ever, if not a little more so. He chuckled. “Figures! Only you, Sheppard.”

“But what happened? We all saw what it did to you, in those fucking hostage videos Kolya kept sending. So _how_ –” Rodney didn't know whether to smile or scowl. All his fuses were pretty much blown, at this point.

John grinned. “It just undid it. Put everything back.” He caught the soldiers' eyes. “Lower your weapons.” The Wraith glared at all of them, but gradually straightened out of its initial feral crouch.

“How is this possible?” Teyla had never heard of this before, in all the worlds she'd traveled.

John frowned, shaking his head. “Don't ask me.”

Even now, after restoring him, the Wraith looked a lot younger than it had when they first met.

It inclined its head. “The Gift of Life is reserved only for our most devout worshipers. And our brothers.”

John nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, I guess there's a lot about the Wraith that we don't know.”

Ronon just stared, and the Wraith noticed. “Sheppard returned my life. I merely repaid the debt.”

“What debt?” Rodney was incredulous. “I mean, are you kidding? He looks younger than he did before!” Then he stopped, and actually looked faintly embarrassed.

 _That's my Rodney_. John couldn't help but smile.

“What about Kolya?” Ever practical, that was Ronon. John rummaged for the Genii radio.

“Kolya. This is Sheppard.” Nothing. But he _knew_ the bastard was listening. “I figured you'd run. Next time I see you, you die.” He released the key. He really didn't have anything else to say. He turned to face the others. “Let's get the hell outta here.”

Ronon pointed at the Wraith. “What about him?” The Wraith itself looked curious.

John met the Wraith's eyes. “We had a deal. We both go home alive. Right?”

“Yes, though I did not expect you to honour it.” Well, how about that. John smirked.

“There's a lot about humans that _you_ don't know.” Then he shot it with Ronon's blaster on stun. “Pick it up,” he told the Marines. “We're gonna drop it off somewhere.” Rodney glared at him, fiercely enough to peel paint. John just shrugged. “Hey, I never would have made it to the surface alone. It helped me escape.”

Ronon pointedly avoided helping to lift it, though usually he was all up on that strongman schtick. John didn't care. 

His team had found him. He had survived. John was going _home_.

* * * * * * *

The Wraith leapt to its feet with a reflexive snarl. John just stood in front of it, relaxed, arms resting casually across the butt of his P90. The sky overhead was dark and full of stars; off to one side, the Gate stood open, a silver-blue shimmer of nearly infinite possibilities.

“Ah, Sheppard.” It quirked a nonexistent eyebrow at him. It fingered its chest, where the stun blast had hit. “I thought you–”

“Like I said, there's a lot about humans...”

“That I do not know.” Two Darts went screaming by overhead, and John saw the Wraith relax at their presence. “And if we meet again?”

“All bets are off.” John shrugged. Not like it should be a surprise.

“I see. Very well.” Another Dart screamed by overhead, and the Wraith turned to follow its path. John took advantage of its moment of distraction, and stepped back into the Jumper's cloaking field just before it turned back to face where he had been.

The Wraith just stood there calmly, as the Jumper lifted off, uncloaked, and headed for the open Gate.


	8. Country John and the Fish

“Aww, come _on_ , Carson!! I finally get busted outta jail and you want to keep me locked up in here? What'd I ever do to _you?_ ” John ran his hands through his already-crazed hair, making it look even crazier.

Carson just crossed his arms and stood, immovable. “I'll not be dissuaded, Colonel. Ye were taken down to the very edge of dyin', and brought back new again all at once. I've no idea what kind of effect that'll have on your body, but I'll be a lot happier if you're being monitored for at least your first 28 hours back here. Now, if by suppertime tomorrow, you're keeping food down, and you're not throwin' arrythmias at me, _then_ we can talk about ye getting' out. Assuming all your scans are negative, of course. But for tonight, yer arse is mine, John Sheppard, and I'll not hear otherwise.”

John used every flouncy, pouty move he owned, which was more than a few; but every single one just bounced right off the determined doctor. 

“Don't you go makin' puppy eyes at me, now. I'll have none of that, thank you. Now I've had my say, and that's an end of it. Among other things, ye got _shot_ not four hours ago, man!” When the back of the Jumper had opened and Carson saw the amount of obviously fresh blood all over Sheppard's face, running down his arm, and dripping off his fingers, he'd feared the worst for a moment or two. He'd been very much afraid, ever since the abduction, that they would get John back after it was too late to do any good. Lord knew, since arriving on Atlantis, he'd seen that happen far more often than anyone should ever have to. He'd been so upset, he hadn't noticed the newly-youthful face at first. And wasn't _that_ a fine howd'ye do! Between the Gift of Life, and the fact that the enzyme itself seemed to be the next best thing to pharmaceutical cocaine... Well. 

John held up his newly-healed arm, with a shiny pink dimple where the bullet wound had been. “But Carson, it's _fixed!!_ He fixed it when he fixed all the rest of it!” Man, he felt great! He felt like he was built out of lightning and spring steel, and he stood ten feet tall and could catch bullets in his teeth.

He'd seen Ford like this, and thought the worst of him. The word junkie had crossed his thoughts more than once in those early days, before they'd finally given Ford up as being dead. Now, John realized, he knew better. That hadn't really been Ford at all; that had just been the enzyme talking. That was how it made you feel. _I guess this does kind of help to explain the Wraith worshipers a bit, huh. Always wondered about that before, about what the hell they got out of the deal. Now I guess I know_. He hadn't felt this good in far too long – longer than he really cared to remember. Right now all he wanted to do was go for a nice long run, out on the perimeter, out where he could smell the ocean and hear the water slap against the sides of the piers. Or better still, go surfing, over on the mainland. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd caught a wave. None in either Afghanistan or Antarctica, and even though he'd brought his board here after that first trip back to Earth, he hadn't found time to actually use it yet. Wasn't looking likely anytime soon, either.

Carson huffed. “Aye, yer arm's all fixed, and it's bloody impressed I am, too, so stop wi' yer pouting. But all the same, I want ye under monitors tonight, John. _Please_. We just got ye back. I don't want anything goin' wrong where I can't get to ye fast enough.” His face was haunted. 

_Damn. They must all have seen that stupid fucking video_. John exhaled gustily, and let himself flop back against his pillows. He had to admit, it did feel pretty damned nice to be clean, wearing clean scrubs, in a clean, warm bed, with a belly full of nice, hot, fresh-cooked food. For a while there, his chances of doing any of that again had been looking really crappy.

“You _promise_ I can get out of here tomorrow?” And that tone of voice absolutely was not whining. Lieutenant-colonels in the United States Air Force do not _whine_.

Much.

“Aye, as long as yer telemetry's lookin' all right, I'll let ye go tomorrow. For tonight, ye stay here. Let the IV run overnight. Get yerself rehydrated. Get some sleep, for god's sake man. I can't fathom how you're keepin' yer eyes open at this point, I really can't.” Carson shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.

John ducked his head, grinning, then peered upward at the doctor. “Yeah, you can. You know exactly what I'm feeling like right now, Carson.”

Carson sighed. “Aye, John, s'pose I do, at that. Still an' all, I'm just glad we got you back. Even for you, that was a damned narrow escape, lad.” He poured a glass of water and handed it over. “Now, drink that, and several more like it overnight, and I'll pull the IV and discharge ye in the morning. Yon Wraith might've healed yer wounds an' so on, but you're still dehydrated, and your electrolytes are all over the bloody place.” He took, and recorded, yet another set of vital signs for John's chart, then, with a casual wave, signed the infirmary off to Dr. Biro for the night, and headed for his quarters.

John had to admit it – he was kinda thirsty, now that he listened to his body more. Thirsty, tired, wired – and completely blown away. The Wraith could give life, as well as take it? _Damn. Who knew?_

He finished the glass Carson had left for him and poured another one. He drank about half of that and parked it on his bedside table.

Now, if only he had– aha! Yep, that was Rodney all right, sneaking in the doors just after Carson walked out. And he had pudding! And a laptop, which John hoped was stuffed with all kinds of moving-picture goodness... Not that he was ungrateful, hell no. Just – it was all he could do to sit still at the best of times, and without something to distract him tonight, he knew he was never gonna make it to lunchtime tomorrow before he snuck out, blew something up, or otherwise got himself in a shitpot of trouble, of the irate Scottish doctor variety. 

The scientist actually managed to stay silent all the way across the nearly-deserted ward. Once there, he set two pudding cups on the rolling tray and pushed it around to where John could reach it.

John visibly perked up when he saw the pudding. “Chocolate?” Hey, a guy could dream, right?

Rodney grinned. “One's chocolate, and the second one's butterscotch! Elkins saved you the last one.” 

“Very cool!” John made a mental note to try and make sure Elkins got a good review when the time came. Shouldn't be hard; the kid was a damn good cook. They were lucky to have him. But this – talk about going the extra mile... _I wonder if O'Neill would accept it if I put in a requisition for several cases of butterscotch pudding as a vital city defense component?_ Couldn't hurt to try...

John reached for the butterscotch one first. He _never_ got to eat these; they barely made it off the Daedalus most of the time. He looked up, caught Rodney's eye. “Thanks, man. For everything. Ronon told me how you found me.”

Rodney huffed, looking pleased. “Radim did give us the right address in the end – but we already had it figured out, so, yeah.” He popped his own pudding open. Ahhh, chocolate. Rodney's favourite flavour. Mind you, the butterscotch one was pretty good, and he'd quite enjoyed the green tea one Miko had given him once – but it was definitely chocolate for the win, every time.

“So, you let that Wraith go, in the end. Not worried it's going to come back and bite us on the ass?”

“Not especially, no. It could – but I don't think so, Rodney. For one thing, it never got near Atlantis, so although it knows we do exist, it hasn't got any useful knowledge about us to trade.” He grimaced, remembering. “Man, that was a _seriously_ fucking weird situation, not gonna lie. For a while there, I figured my ass was toast. Kolya even told it to take its fill, on that last feeding – and it stopped itself while I still had some strength left.” He scowled at his completely inoffensive pudding cup. “If you'd told me last year that I'd end up making alliance with a Wraith of all things, I'd have told you that you were completely fucking nuts. Shows you what I know, huh.”

“Hey, it worked, didn't it? Not to mention, pissing off Kolya and keeping him from what he wants, can't write that one off too quickly. Anything that frustrates that asshole's plans can't be _all_ bad.”

“Even a Wraith as ally?” In the safety of home, John was finding it more and more difficult to believe that whole scene had even been real. Even though he now had his very own feeding scar as proof, not something too many people who were still breathing ever had. To accept that he was alive right now _because a Wraith had kept its word_ – that was gonna take some getting used to.

“Yeah. Even that. Although, you might wanna steer clear of Teyla for a bit. Don't think she was real keen on letting it go, even though you'd given your word.” Rodney shook his head, dubious. Teyla on the warpath was a force of nature, one to be avoided if at all possible.

John looked startled. “Huh. Forgot about that. I think I'll just kind of avoid that whole conversation for a while.” He glanced over at Rodney and grinned, making himself look goofy as hell and way too hot for Rodney's peace of mind, much less for Sickbay, where the things Rodney wanted to do were right out of the question. “So, McKay – did'ja bring me something good to watch?”

“Mmm, could be. Perhaps. I'm sure it's nothing, though. Probably just bore you.” But the glint in Rodney's eye said otherwise. John just grinned, and scooched himself up further in the bed, so as to see the screen better.

“Woah, you brought me Torchwood, _and_ Warehouse 13? Sweet! Hey, you want my brownie? I'm full, between that tray, the IV, and all the damned water Carson's making me drink.” Thank god for rolling IV poles and a mostly-empty infirmary!

* * * * * * *

Evan Lorne was a man with a mission. A member of his team was hurting and alone, and Even knew only too well how that felt. He'd made it his purpose tonight to find the man and do whatever he could to help.

Right now, pretty much the whole city was in a party mood; their success in retrieving Sheppard was a heady little rush all around. Except for one man. For Parrish, this just made it that much worse.

It actually took him nearly two hours to track Parrish down, in the farthest rear compartment of the hydroponics tower. Evan was pretty sure Atlantis herself had helped him to find him, in the end. Not that he planned on sharing _that_ little bombshell anytime soon. Evan had no intention of ending up wearing the jacket that was all sleeves, or living in the nice padded room. No thanks.

He'd have bet cash money that Sheppard knew that feeling all too well, though. He'd seen the colonel, more than once, when he thought that no-one else was watching, running a palm along the walls and muttering to himself – or the city.

Following some vague sense that he couldn't explain, Evan picked his way deep into a tangled thicket of not-bamboo, and was rewarded for his effort by nearly tripping over Parrish's outstretched legs. The man hardly reacted at all, but that wasn't too surprising, given all the fuss being made over Sheppard's return. Parrish's partner was never going to come home. There hadn't even been anything left to bury.

“David? It's Evan, man. Came to see how you're doin'.”

Parrish looked up at him with eyes that were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Yeah, that was about how well Evan had figured he'd be doing. He sat down in the dirt next to the scientist, and handed him a bottle of Radek's finest freshly-brewed fire-water. Parrish took a swig and winced, coughing, eyes watering. “Bloody hell, you could clean engine parts with that stuff, any day.” He took another swig, though, belying his words.

Evan took one himself. His team was still on medical leave, so he didn't have to worry about it.

“I figured you'd be holed up down here somewhere. It's kinda rough, isn't it, getting the colonel back that way.” He drank again, and passed the bottle back.

Parrish took a couple of swigs and coughed, wiping his eyes. “God, Evan – I just... I keep thinking, what we should have done, what we could have done...”

“I know what you mean, Doc. I keep doing the same damned thing, myself.” Not six months previously, barely a week after Evan was first transferred to the city from Colorado Springs, Dr. Peter Grodin had died during the first Wraith siege, when the Wraith fired on the Ancient satellite. He'd been killed in the process of saving Atlantis from the Wraith, yet _again_. And Parrish had been left behind, alive, but suddenly alone. The two of them had been together for over a decade, since long before they were chosen for the expedition to what was known back then as “The Lost City of the Ancients.”

Grodin hadn't been a part of Evan's team directly. But Parrish was, so in a sense, Peter was, too.

“I feel like such an _arsehole_ , tonight.” Parrish's voice was rough, choked with grief. “Everyone else is so happy that we got Sheppard back alive, and I can't join in. I don't begrudge anyone their happiness, you know that. I just...” He drank again and coughed. “God, what does Radek use to brew this stuff? Probably frying what's left of my liver – but thanks, Evan.”

Lorne reached out and awkwardly patted the scientist on the shoulder. Emo stuff like this was never his strong suit. But Parrish wasn't just a friend, he was Team.

And when your team-mate's hurting, you _fix_ it. Or at the very least, you give it a damned good try.

* * * * * * *

Elizabeth yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She was almost done with this last batch of reports. Soon as she handed them to Chuck, they could send out the weekly databurst to the SGC. But first, she went over everything with a fine-tooth comb, making sure not to give the IOA any more ammunition it could use against them.

 _Gods, save us from the bureaucrats_. Invading Genii, homicidal maniacs, no big deal. Pegasus-style flu epidemics that are actually lethal plagues – been there, done that. Chiseling village council members, corrupt religious leaders, all in a day's work. But the idiots on the other side of the Gate, the ones who'd be reading these reports – now those could become a problem far too easily, if she let them. So every week, she spent an afternoon like this, headphones filling her head with some Miles Davis or a spot of John Coltrane, doing a careful and considered editing job on the reports her sometimes overenthusiastic personnel filed for sending back home.

Although, really, Earth didn't feel like home any more. Earth was the Old Country, beloved source of all good things and many useful supplies and personnel. But home? Any more, if she was honest about it, home was right here on this world, in this city, among her people. And Elizabeth Weir wouldn't have it any other way.


	9. Space Oddity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this story, but not for this 'verse, that's for sure.

“Oh, now that is _disgusting!_ I've got this damned mud in places mud was never meant to go. _Eww!_ ” Rodney looked like an angry cat with tape on its paws, trying to keep all four in the air and failing miserably. He leaned in under the shower head and started scrubbing his hair yet _again_. For the third time. John bit his lip, trying manfully not to burst out laughing. After all, Rodney could hold a grudge with truly demented thoroughness, when somebody pissed him off bad enough. 

He, too, had gotten the viscous, sulphurous, brown and black mud up close and personal. On the other hand, they had all made it back home in more or less one piece this time, if you didn't count numerous insect bites – which John was trying very hard not to think about.

He fucking _hated_ bugs. He'd never liked them even as a kid. And now, after being bitten by an iratus bug that time, and then later, after a pathogen-infected feeding bite given him by the juvenile Wraith queen, Elia, actually turned him _into_ one, his already firm dislike had become complete and utter loathing. Leopard and Iratus, it turned out, did _not_ an harmonious combination in one body make. It hadn't been pretty. John was just grateful he hadn't killed or seriously injured any of his own men while he was under that influence. He'd beaten the crap out of several guards, but that was it. All he really knew about that time was what he'd learned from watching the surveillance tapes later. He had almost no memory of any of it, and watching the tapes, he was just as happy he didn't remember. Crawling up the wall like a damned cockroach, fuck! 

It could easily have turned into a massacre. He'd been _completely_ out of his head. Definitely gave him a better understanding of why Teyla had refused the ATA gene therapy. Didn't seem likely that Wraith and ATA would blend well, either. John figured she'd made the smart choice, there.

And unfortunately, while the Pegasus galaxy was pretty short on humans and even shorter on technology, as a rule, one thing it did have in abundance was insect life.

Okay, two things. An insanely huge variety of insect life, and more kinds of malodorous mud and slime than John had ever conceived of. Most of which he'd tripped or been pushed into at one time or another, since arriving here, and that wasn't even counting all the disgusting stuff the Wraith used to build their ships.

Could have been worse, though. At least the damned Wraith hadn't shown up this time – or the Genii. And although he, too, found the mud disgusting, ogling a naked Rodney in the shower was _never_ gonna get boring. So, the mission itself had been kind of a washout. John figured he could deal. _Any landing you walk away from, right?_

Although now that he thought about it, it did still feel like he still had mud between his – yeah. Better safe than sorry. John stepped back into his own spray and grabbed some more soap. Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything about his attraction to Rodney here, anyway. There was way too much traffic in and out of this shower room, seeing as all the returning Gate teams came through here after Medical cleared them. Plus, Elizabeth was certainly already waiting for them to debrief, as soon as they were done here. Unfortunately, they didn't have any good news for her on this trip. P7Y 397 proved to have been culled pretty recently, maybe just before they'd arrived, according to Ronon. No ZPMs, no trade opportunities. Not even any useful salvage.

Fucking Wraith. Not a day went by that John didn't regret his part in waking them up. It might have happened anyway, even without him – but that wasn't much consolation. Heightmeier had told him more than once that he took on too much responsibility, too much guilt, but the fact remained – it was John who had killed the Keeper. Heightmeier hadn't seen the smug look on the Keeper's face, or heard her mocking laughter as she died. Heightmeier hadn't stood there and watched all those fucking hibernation chambers light up, as the walking nightmares asleep inside them began to stir.

He stuck his face fully into the spray so he could rinse off, keeping his eyes squinched shut. He nearly jumped a mile in the air when a broad, warm hand closed on his upper arm.

“Hey, quit brooding. We all made it back this time, that puts us ahead of the game. Official rules, you know.” Hmm, naked Rodney. Naked Rodney _touching_ him. _Okay, stand down, soldier. Not the place to go popping a bone... Have to wait just a little bit longer._ Happy leopard rumble in the back of his head, at that idea.

John sighed, and tried, once again, to make himself relax. It had been getting harder and harder, lately, for him to do that, as the missions and crises piled up and up. It never _stopped_ , that was the problem, and after a bit more than two years in command here, John was feeling stretched kind of thin... “Damn, Rodney, warn a guy next time, huh?”

Rodney's snort managed to convey humour and sadness, all in one. “Yeah, tried that. You didn't hear me. Anyway, we better get out of here before we prunify, and Elizabeth sends in a search party.”

That made it official. If _Rodney_ thought he'd gotten clean enough, John had definitely been spacing out too long. Oh, well. At least he was thoroughly clean now, if not particularly happy. He stepped back and thought the shower off. Now, where'd he put his towel... there it was. He took a minute to shake the worst of the water out of his hair, then scrubbed at it with the towel.

“Hey, Rodney – you got anything planned for this evening?” _Hopefully not_...

“Not really. Other than berating the minions, anyway. Why, what're you thinking?”

“Miko scored me a copy of the original “Seven Samurai” – original sound, subtitles, no cheesy dubs or funky edits. And a bottle of the good saké, to go with it. You interested?” Wait till Rodney saw the surprise John was planning for him. He'd been practicing for days, until he could do it _perfectly_. This was gonna be fun!

Rodney had given him a lot of really cool things since they first arrived here. Only fair he return the favour. The fact that he, too, was going to enjoy this had nothing to do with it. Nope. Absolutely nothing at all. That was John's story, and he was sticking to it.

“Oh _hell_ , yeah! Sweet! Who'd you have to kill?” Said along with that patented McKay slantwise smirk, which never failed to goose John and make him twitch down below. Like he wasn't twitchy enough? Hah. John just smirked back and, having finished drying off, headed for the locker room. He would never in a million years have imposed on Miko to get him any of those things – but if she chose to express her gratitude in such a way, John would never be so boorish as to refuse the gesture. The game had rules, after all. And the look on Rodney's face just now? Fucking _priceless_.

Always keep 'em guessing.

* * * * * * * 

Rodney bounced on his toes as he walked down the hall toward the transporter, clutching a crumpled brown paper bag in one hand, and his second-favourite laptop in the other. The bag was just protective colouration, hiding some of his last extra-dark chocolate, his last bag of Cheetos, and half a pound of crystallized ginger that he'd been hoarding since the last Daedalus supply run, a few weeks back. He'd traded Dr. Novak half a dozen useful control crystals that he happened to have found, he wasn't telling where. After all, he might need to trade for more, eventually.

Might, hell. _Would_ , was more like it. A man had needs, after all. Needs beyond what a stack of laptops and a lab full of minions to bully could satisfy, strange as that might seem.

Now, if he could just get his nervous system to calm the hell down for a bit... Yeah. Like _that_ was going to happen.

Still... he had an actual _date_ tonight – with the guy he'd been hot and bothered about for ages now. The guy who was quite possibly the hottest thing on two feet that Rodney McKay had ever seen in his life. Who, by some cosmic oversight, actually returned his interest. Talk about amazing... 

It was just barely possible that that particular thought might have put even more of a spring in his step. What! It was a damned shame that the American military had their collective heads so far up their asses, because he would have loved to treat Sheppard the way Rodney thought he should be treated. But that wasn't possible, not yet anyway. So instead, he'd just have to stick with things that he could do and say in private.

Which, you know, was actually pretty okay, now that he thought about it some more. Oh, yeah. He could _definitely_ work with this. _After all, genius here, hello_.

* * * * * * *

Radek grinned ferociously to himself, as he blasted another hostile into the next life. He'd made it to Round Three of the latest, hotly-contested, Grunts vs. Geeks tournament, and it pleased him immensely that the Marines still left standing in the tournament were so surprised at his skill. _Should have lived through the Cold War, my friends. This little children's game? This is nothing_. 

He'd put in a long day today, supervising repairs to Atlantis' desalination plant. It was frustrating, how casual some of the newer recruits were about engineering. That plant supplied all of Atlantis' fresh water needs, and it wasn't something that duct tape and baling wire could fix. Not that Radek hadn't made his share of repairs like that, especially during the first year here, when they'd been cut off from Earth until they found some ZPMs or learned how to make them. But dammit, he knew when to fake it, and when to insist on the real thing. These... _puppies_ the SGC sent here – what was he supposed to do with all these cloistered academics, when what he really needed was plumbers, and electricians – preferably with at least a modicum of military training, so they wouldn't faint the first time they saw a Wraith. And they needed cooks, and janitors – and they _desperately_ needed people to handle the paperwork and organize things. No-one currently in Sciences wanted to volunteer, and Radek could hardly blame them for that. He himself loathed paperwork. He was intelligent enough to realize it was necessary – he just hated doing the stuff.

Still. He was enjoying _everything_ right now, even work – Kavanaugh was finally out of his hair for good, Radek had survived with nothing worse than a couple of burns, and he had been eager to get back to work for days already, chafing at Carson's fussing. He'd gone through Round One and most of Round Two while he was convalescing, though he'd made sure not to tell the doctor about it. Only to find Carson grinning at him in the mess hall, the day Round Three began.

“Ye might be doin' all right against those other fools, lad, but ye'll have a time getting by me that easy, let me tell you.” The words had sounded hostile, but Carson's eyes gave him away, full of laughter.

Radek had just smiled, and said nothing, although privately, he was pretty sure he could do it.

Hah! Now, would you look at that – here was a team of them, sneaking up on his position from the side. And they probably thought he couldn't see them. That was going to be an expensive mistake. 

* * * * * * *

Evan clasped his hands together and bowed. Miko returned the bow, elegant and stunning in her formal regalia, then turned and seated herself. The breeze set her hair ornaments tinkling, the sound a delicate counterpoint to the shush of wavelets breaking against the city's piers. They exchanged the very slightest of smiles as Evan picked up his palette and brush. He'd gotten the background pretty much done earlier, and the foreground shading was mostly roughed in already; now he began to paint Miko into the picture.

She sat in sunlight, with mixed light and shadow behind her. The sunlight made the red and white of her traditional clothes vibrant and rich, picking out the subtle texture of the jacquard designs woven into them, setting prismatic sparkles flashing in the deep blue-black of her hair. Her face was made up in the classic manner, calm and composed, and as he began to paint, Evan reflected on how lucky he was to be here, alive and well, and with such a one as Miko in his life.

He had come as near to dying as he ever hoped to get on this last mission. He didn't want to get to that point again for a _whole_ lot of years. And without help, he would have died in that dungeon on Geniia, without ever seeing Miko again. But he wasn't alone out here; Miko, Colonel Sheppard, Lieutenant Cadman, Rodney, Lieutenant Park, and more – a lot of people had had a part in helping him and Coughlin escape from the Genii. Badly injured as he was, Evan could never have done it on his own – but he hadn't needed to. His people had come for him, and Evan was _never_ gonna forget that.

* * * * * * *

John stood on his balcony, gazing up at the stars and trying to calm his nerves. This was ridiculous – he could fly a suicide mission with a nuke aboard, without batting an eyelash, but this? Nerve-wracking! But there was a lot at stake, here; he desperately wanted this to work, and if it didn't, his life was going to turn to shit in the worst kind of way. And John pretty much sucked at actual relationships. His marriage had been a flaming disaster on wheels.

 _Hush up, numb-nuts! You're just freaking yourself out_. Which was true. They might not have actually done anything yet, but he had no doubt that both he and Rodney were on the same frequency.

Just the same, when the door chime sounded, he nearly jumped a foot in the air.

“Come on in!” He had everything pretty much set up and ready to go. Show time!

Rodney walked in and set his paper bag down on the desk. Seeing John's gaze, he grinned. “Munchies; figured I'd bring a bit of everything.”

“Cool.” John pointed to his laptop. “The movie's already queued up and ready to run. Give me a minute to heat the saké. Go ahead and get comfy.” He headed into his bathroom, where the hotplate lived, along with his dwindling stash of coffee and tea.

While the saké was heating, John got ready, peeling off his outer layer of clothes, leaving him clad only in black t-shirt, black leggings, specially tailored – he would never admit it in front of the Marines, but John was pretty good with a needle when he had to be – and a wide black ribbon with a round brass bell on it around his neck. He'd borrowed that last off of Miko, after showing her what he'd been working on. She had laughed, smiled sweetly at him, and said she had just the thing. Hence the bell, right out of every cat-boy manga ever written. John had studiously avoided thinking about why she might have had it in the first place.

It only took him a couple of minutes to heat the precious saké, then he loaded up the tray with saké flask, cups, and a bowl of crunchy wasabi peas and assorted rice crackers. Then he stood back and concentrated for a moment, invoking the Change and tweaking it, just the way he'd practiced. He retrieved his newly-manifested tail from its uncomfortable coil in his leggings and snapped the black fabric closed around it, then pulled his t-shirt down to his tail. Ah, that was _much_ more comfortable. Yeah. This would work. 

Miko had smiled fondly and told him that he was “ _Supakawaii!_ ”

After a quick check in the mirror to make sure he hadn't missed anything, he picked up the tray, and walked out into his room.

Rodney had already grabbed some Cheetos and gotten comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, with John's laptop, as well as his own, close at hand. He'd just finished checking that in fact, the movie was ready to go, when he heard a rustling and looked up–

In time to see John come stalking out of the bathroom with more than the usual amount of slinky grace. He was carrying a tray full of saké flask, cups, and a bowl of munchies...

Rodney gaped, and nearly fell off the bed – he would bet cash money, useless though it was out here, that he was the only man who had ever seen Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard looking like this! 

Because as John came through the door, Rodney could see it all: Big furry leopard ears, nestled among the shiny black hair, in almost the same position as his human ears (and more pointed than an ordinary snow leopard's ears would ever be, just like his human ears), a fuzzy leopard tail dancing around John's legs, even his face was more cat-shaped now – and he was dressed all in skintight black, with a _cat bell_ around his neck. Fucking _awesome_.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Damn, his pants were getting uncomfortably tight. “How, who– what did – how did you know?” He hadn't thought anything could make John look any sexier; the man was sex on a stick just standing still and breathing, really. But this? Wow. Rodney's cock was busily trying to drill its way out of his pants.

John grinned, showing cute little pointy cat fangs. Damn, he hadn't missed a _thing_. “How'd I know what, that you'd like this? C'mon, Rodney, I've played with your laptop enough times. You've got all kinds of manga in that thing.” He set the tray down on the bedside table, then turned to face Rodney and smiled even wider. Rodney looked utterly pole-axed, which was exactly the reaction John had hoped for. He bowed, then sank gracefully to his knees, which put the table at just the right height, carefully picked up the heated flask and poured them both a cupful. They were teeny little cups, but John had drunk saké before; it could pack one hell of a kick for the unwary. Handing Rodney one, he raised the other. “Kampai!” Both of them drained their cups, and John poured them both a refill. He could already feel a nice warm buzz, spreading outward from his stomach. This had definitely been one of his better crazy ideas...

Of course, now he was on the floor instead of the bed, and the movie hadn't been started yet, and... screw it. He'd figure something out; John was great at improvising.

“Hey. Come on back up here, so we can start the movie. I brought chocolate, as well as the Cheetos.” Or, you know, he could let Rodney think of something for him. The guy definitely had a gift. 

For once, Rodney's expression was open and unguarded, the blue eyes were wide, his face completely guileless. It was a good look for him; John intended to make sure he felt that way more often.

“You got a deal. C'mon, scoot over and give me some room.”


End file.
